


From the Shadows

by DYlogger, Liafail



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: After Camlann Merlin Big Bang, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-17
Updated: 2015-09-20
Packaged: 2018-04-21 04:07:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 49,079
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4814363
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DYlogger/pseuds/DYlogger, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Liafail/pseuds/Liafail
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Valley of the Fallen Kings holds more than just the ghosts of kings past. A chance meeting with the shade of a fallen queen has Arthur questioning his actions, Camelot’s future, and his complex and troubled relationship with his servant.</p><p>With a single heartfelt deed amongst his knights, the words of the woman come back to haunt and unbalance his view of the world. Arthur’s life is sent sprawling, and it takes a mother’s wrath, an indignant knight, and the timely interference of a goat to mend his kingdom and his heart.</p><p>Please see the art masterpost: http://archiveofourown.org/works/4814477</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

  
  


* * *

Arthur pulled his bay up, impatiently glaring at Merlin beside him. Leon pulled his horse as well, eyes roaming Merlin and his mount with concern.

Merlin slid off his mare, the tossing of her head an anxious response to the gloom of the woods. He patted her flank, and reached down to her rear left hoof with a huff of breath, and then a long sigh that puffed white and harsh in the gloom under the trees. “She’s thrown a shoe.”

Arthur grit his teeth at yet another delay. “I mean to have that stag, Merlin.”

“Easy girl, easy,” he ignored Arthur, and sent long strokes down his horse’s neck. “We’ll walk back, nice and slow.” He leant in to rub his cold nose against her neck, the mane tickling his face. Arthur could see him smile softly. “Anything for a break, eh, girl? Just want to spend time with me?”

Arthur’s voice carried loudly in the quiet of the forest, and he sneered as he nudged his mount onward, “This is just ridiculous. You’re going to stop all of us to coddle your horse? She can keep up.”

Merlin’s lips thinned and he stilled his hands. “I’d rather walk her, sire. She’s important to me.”

Arthur sighed, “Come Merlin, don't be so sentimental, it's just a horse. It carries things from one place to another.”

Merlin remained mute.

Arthur sighed again and pulled on the reins to move closer,“what's gotten into you lately?”

Merlin spoke into his mare’s mane. “I'm a servant sire. I carry things from one place to another.”

Arthur swallowed hard. A moment of uncomfortable silence turned into two, and he rolled his eyes. “I'm going on ahead. You and,” he gestured dismissively, “your horse can walk back.”

“Fine. Go.” Merlin’s shoulders stiffened and he leaned into his horse's mane and whispered, loud enough for the silent forest to carry his words, “not like it matters, you always leave me.”

The crunch of hooves on snow is the only thing that fills the awkward silence, and then with a sudden kick to his mount’s flanks, the prince was off on the trail of the wounded stag from that morning’s hunt.

“Come Leon, let’s leave the ladies!” he forced a grin at Leon.

Leon’s gazed down at his hands, brow furrowed, “Sire, are you sure…” he trailed.

“Don’t tell me you’d like to walk back with him, Leon.” His voice was light, but his words cold. “I’ve had enough of his ineptitude. Let him stay with the damn horse.”

“My King. Are you sure you want to leave Merlin behind?” Leon’s breath puffed and was torn from him as they set the horses to a faster pace.

It was many strides before Arthur replied, “You mean do I want to get away from the moody, useless layabout? The one who spent the last three days at the tavern? The one who is clearly far too hungover to even keep up with us this morning?” He made a noise deep in his throat. “I should have had that buck.”

Leon frowned and pulled up his horse, who shied at the change. “I don’t like leaving him alone when he’s like this. I’m going back.”

“Fine, Leon, be one of the girls,” Arthur said exasperated. “I’m going to find this buck once again, if it’s the last thing I do.”

Leon’s hoofbeats tapered off, and for a moment, Arthur could feel nothing but the wind in his face as his destrier took the forest path in long sure strides. A part of him could care less about the prey he was seeking, simply taking a moment to himself to revel in his freedom, being alone, not having to spend half his time riddling out the schemes of his court, or what was so wrong with Merlin that he’d spend days at the bottom of a glass. The constant attacks this winter had left him heartsick and thin, and Merlin’s erratic behaviour was growing more and more desperate, culminating in his latest disappearance.

At that thought, he spared a glance back for those left behind, but he’d gone too far to see them. The fading light flickered shadows across the melting snow, and for a moment, the scent of honeysuckle and thyme reached him.

He slowed his horse’s strides, and looked into the shadows. With a start he recognized the large rack of the deer he’d pursued, as somber and relaxed as if he’d owned the woods.

“Not as wounded as I thought you were, old one,” he whispered. Reaching back behind his cloak, he unhooked his crossbow from his saddle, and steadied it on his arm. The buck seemed to stare right at him in challenge, then tilted his head before turning to dart back in the direction he came.

“Ye-yah!” Arthur dug in his heels, determined to follow his treasure. The gloam of the forest turned silver and darker as he urged his horse to turn and dip around tangles and leap brambles, pursuing his prey. Within moments the forest opened to a long narrow valley, the sudden afternoon sunlight bright to his eyes.

He squinted, and looked for signs of the deer, but the valley looked untouched, the snow undisturbed. Arthur looked about frantically at the thought of magic, but the valley felt calm and quiet, without a sound to his ears but the swaying of bare branches in the breeze. The soft afternoon sunshine shone bright on the snow, and something to the east glinted golden and gleaming. He nudged his horse in that direction, curious as to the source. As he took slow strides across the valley, he could see the brightness was actually under the branches, in the shadows, and his curiosity grew.

He ducked his head under the first of the branches, pushing east to the source of the glow. The sunlight was weaker under the branches, and the ground bare of snow. The smell of thyme and honeysuckle returned, and Arthur shook his head in confusion.

“What enchantment is this?” He followed the glow, and the scent grew stronger, constant now, instead of here and there. The mystery moved him forward into the darker shadows of large limestone boulders, looming moss covered sentinels.

“Who’s there?” he called out. The sound echoed strangely, and he pulled his cloak closer.

“Hello?” a woman’s voice called from somewhere close.

The reply startled him, and his horse shied with a worrisome nicker. “Easy, easy.” He pushed him forward, and craned his neck around the large lichen covered stones.

“Who are you?” he called out, one hand tightly grasping the reins, the other on his sword hilt. His breath sounded loud to his ears and the smell of honeysuckle strange and disturbing at each inhale. The golden light flared up ahead and he hesitated, unsure of what he’d stumbled into, and bitterly cursing his choice to leave Leon and Merlin behind.

Arthur pulled on the reins and nudged his horse forward. He began to toss his head and stamp his hooves, pulling back. “Easy boy, easy.” He slid off the saddle and patted at him. “You can stay.” He looped the reins over the closest tree, and slid his hand down over his gelding’s nose. “You just wait here,” and with a final pat, he unsheathed his sword, the steel hissing as it bared itself to the world.

“Show yourself.” The golden light flickered again at his words, sending strange shadows, and he gasped when it showed itself from around the bend, a floating orb of light. He pushed himself back against the tree as it moved closer to him.

Arthur gulped for air, torn between fear and curiosity. He remembered this light. The one in the cave was silver and blue, and this one soft and buttery gold. With one hand firmly gripping his sword, he reached out the other to come close to touching. His mind reeled at the glow and worked itself up to find the courage to actually touch the orb.

With the barest brush of his finger, he poked the ball of light. “It’s warm,” his voice breathed out in wonder.

“Yes,” a woman’s voice agreed, sounding both exhausted and bemused.

Arthur whirled, his blade held steady. “Who are you?” She was tall, with hair the color of bark, an ornate silver fillet gleaming in the orb’s glow. An oddly designed gown of green shimmered as she took a step closer, long sleeves trailing in the leaves.

  
  


Her eyes met his, and she started. “You. It’s you!” Beside him, the light shattered into sparks, and she brought her hands up to cover her face. “No, no, how can this be?” she cried out in anguish.

The shadows suddenly seemed menacing under the bare branches and in the dark of the stones. “You, you're a sorceress!” Arthur accused, the point of his blade up in offense. “Undo this magic right now.”

“What magic,” she pulled her hands from her face. “I’ve done nothing,” she shook her head and her earrings made little sounds in the sudden hush of the forest.

“Then why am I here?”

“I don’t know!” She stepped forward, and he could see the silver threads woven through the bodice. Who was this woman so richly dressed, in the middle of this haunted place?

“You’re a sorceress,” he sputtered.

“Yes,” she replied angrily. “What of it?”

He opened his mouth and then closed it, asking back in shock. “What of it?”

The woman glided closer, barely rustling the dead leaves of the forest floor. Arthur tightened his grip on the blade and kept it between him and her, tension in every line. She looked down at the blade, and the slightest bit of smile tugged at her lips. She was close enough he could see the lines around her eyes, and the smell of honeysuckle enveloped him.

Arthur swallowed in fear. The light held warmth, but this woman was cold all the way through. “Not a step closer, witch.”

She looked him straight in the eye and walked into the blade. He gasped and slashed out, terror filling him. He’d die here, alone, to some witch in the woods. Magic would take down the Pendragons after all.

The lack of resistance propelled him forward, and his blade, and his body walked right through the woman. He couldn’t catch himself, and his blade thumped into the earth, and he found himself on his hands and knees. For a moment he just cowered there, heart thumping in his chest, too shocked to turn or grab for his blade, all the good it would do him.

“I’m a ghost, King of Camelot. Put away your sword.”

He grit his teeth “A sorceress.” Slowly he pushed off the earth to kneel, and then rose, blade forgotten. “A dead sorceress.”

She looked at him sadly and raised her hands, the silk sliding back to show bare arms. “And magic is just part of the power I once wielded, for I was once queen of these lands.”

“What do you want with me? Why did you bring me here?” His voice sounded unstrung to his ears, and his eyes searched frantically for a clue to the woman in front of him. She could easily have walked into court and none would have looked twice.

“I did not call you, King of Camelot. I was woken from the grave to find you here. I could as much ask, why did you call me?”

“How did you know who I was?”

“You are in the Valley of Kings. We know our own.” She began to pace, her gown drifting in silence across the dead leaves the only tell of her strangeness. “And now that I’ve met you, I think I understand what I saw. It is you who must find him. He can learn nothing hiding in the shadows.”

“Saw? Find who?”

“The powerful mage that protects Camelot.”

“What magic… But why?”

“Because there is a darkness looming over Camelot, and without him by your side, unburdened, all hope is lost.”

“Why would anyone with magic care to protect Camelot? All they seem to want is to rule over it.”

“I do not know why anyone would NOT protect their home. And he clearly protects you. Magic has always been at the heart of Camelot. And while many crave power, not all with magic seek it. I do not know why mages would be set against you, other than you seem to be set against them.” Her voice ended harshly. “You’re filled with hate.”

Arthur stood in silence, not sure how to reply. “Can you see him?” he tried to change the conversation.

She shook her head, “No, to me he is hidden in the shadows.”

“Who is he? Who is this mage that hides in darkness?”

“I do not know. But he is close to you. Almost as if he was your other half. You of all people in this world should be able to find him - you need him.”

“No I don't. We've always survived. And I think this... man hiding in the darkness,” he spat, “can stay quite out of it. Camelot has suffered enough thanks to magic.”

“You've always needed him. If you survived, it was because he was there. And you must draw him out to survive the coming threats.”

“So you're saying he has always been there. This, this,” he shook his head, “magic wielder? As in you truly mean he’s close to me right now?”

“You've always had a protector with magic Arthur, are you truly that blind?”

“I am not blind. Magic has no place in Camelot. None of my knights meddle with that dark art. We’ve survived this long, we will survive what is to come.”

“Dark art? Do you have no knights who wield magic?”

“A knight, with magic?” he laughed, bitterly. “With magic they would not be a knight. You besmirch that word. I would know if one of their ilk had infiltrated my ranks.”

She cocked a head. “You foolish, arrogant silly,” she glared, and made a sound somewhere between a groan and a cry, “you little ignorant boy! You think you’ve survived on just your swords? You can tell the difference between a bandit and a knight, but you'd just lump everyone who magic into what? criminals? No wonder they keep silent.”

“They had best. Magic use is penalized by death.”

She sucked in a breath. “Is that what you call justice? Is that what your honorable knights do?”

Arthur fidgeted, “Magic corrupts. To keep Camelot safe, my knights protect it against all evil. It began with my father’s law, and I have seen no reason to lift it.”

“You murder those with magic to what? Honor your father?” she choked. “Is your father's way of burning children alive justice? Is your reliance on one you'd kill if you saw him,” she spoke through clenched teeth, “justice? You may have shunned magic, but it has not shunned you!”

“I didn't,” he fumbled for words, “I don't burn children. And I don't rely on sorcery.”

“But for your father,” she mused. “Perhaps you just don't even know it when you see it… So this round table of yours, your knights. Is Camelot at war? Are you some warlord who only promotes swords and shields? Nobles whose worth is based on the armies and men they can supply you with?”

“No, we are at peace. I have knighted commoners.” He let out a sigh and cast his gaze to the ground. “Look, enough of this. I see no reason to talk…”

“STOP with your excuses! I was once a Queen; I stood in your place and sat on the very throne you currently claim. I am looking to help avert a fate that shook me with horror from my sleep beneath the stone. Why do you disdain my questions? WHO ELSE is going to help you foolish, arrogant little brat!”

Arthur’s face snapped up, and anger flashed in his eyes.

“I wouldn't be here speaking with you if you had him at your back. I wouldn’t have been roused from a centuries worth of sleep in pain and heartache for the kingdom I’d left behind.”

She pulled close, the smell of thyme and the forest floor warm in the cold air.“And now to find… to realize… It’s shadows that YOU have created? The very king who should be protecting it is the very one who will damn it?”

“You,” she stabbed her fingers towards his chest. “You are the shadow he hides in Arthur. It is you he fears! Why else would he hide? And it is this fear that keeps him cowed, bent, and it is YOU who will damn Camelot with your actions. It doesn’t matter what is coming, because you’re the reason Camelot will fall.”

“You’re the darkness. You’re what causes Camelot’s doom.”

He went pale. “No… I don’t believe you. What do you have to gain from this?”

“Gain? I’m dead, Arthur. The only thing I wish to gain from this is to return to my slumber without seeing my home in ruins, my friends and family’s children’s children torn and burnt corpses.”

Arthur paled, and he opened his mouth but found he couldn’t say a word. It was true, this woman had nothing to gain from this.

She took in his trembling figure, and wide eyes and softened her tone. “So now you believe me, now you trust the word of a sorceress?” her pale lips twisted on the last word.

“Help me.” His voice was small and introspective.

“You only take council from knights, so clearly they are the only voices you're listening to. Try listening to others. You're only blinding yourself. Clearly he hides because he knows you'd kill him. You would kill the only reason Camelot still stands tall today. You have made no room in your world for anything but swords and war. Give him a reason not to hide.”

Arthur thinks of Merlin and winces. “That is not true.”

“Do you have anyone who is not a Knight that you respect? That you honor?” She shook her head and placed her hands on her hips. “You are not worthy of his loyalty.”

“What ever poisoned the well of Camelot's magic? And murder to honor your father? Why would you embrace that? Find him. You may be king, but it is this man that protects your kingdom. It is his might, not your sword, that has kept it whole.”

He sobered at that thought. “How will I find someone who has hidden so very long from me?”

“Listen to others. Look in the shadows and when you find your protector, bring him out. Give him a place of honor. Make yourself worthy of the loyalty he has given to you.”

“You would have me bring magic back to Camelot.” His voice quavered.

“It never left, Arthur.” She spoke gently. “You can bring death to every magic user alive, and still more will be born. You can burn them and sing songs in honor of your father while their flesh smokes, and you just become more and more a monster. You who speak for peace, see those in his kingdom as nothing less than evil, simply for the sake of being born.”

“Born?”

“Magic is not a choice. Magic is in all things. The ability to wield it has little to do with reading a book, you either have it or you do not. No different from having blue eyes or pale skin. It’s innate.”

“I have seen so little of peace from those with magic.”

“Of course not. They hid from you. Hid everything, so they could continue to survive.”

“How can I possibly convince them to show themselves?”

“You were named to be courage itself, you can do this. And you can share your courage with him.” She smiled softly. “You can teach him how not to hide in fear from you.”

A small laugh broke from him, “So you wish me to return magic, and teach some mad man courage?”

“Mad?”

“He'd have to be to be in Camelot.”

“You are his king, and his magic is to keep you safe. Is his faith in you madness? Perhaps. Perhaps he is a little mad too. Your father went mad with hate, perhaps he’s gone mad with faith. faith in you. What you do now will determine if it was misplaced.”

He looked down. “Would help me?”

“I am trying to.”

“You had visions. You can see the future of Camelot?”

“I can see of A future, I do not know where all paths lead. Why?”

“Can you see someone's future?”

“I told you, I cannot see him.”

“Not him, someone else. I'm worried about a friend. He always said I needed to learn to listen as well as I fight. I listen to him. Whenever things go wrong… he always seems to have the answers. If anyone has misplaced faith in me, it’s my servant.”

“Why do you ask about this serving boy?”

“I'm trying to take your advice. If anyone would be able to find a magic wielder in Camelot, it would be my him.”

She cocks her head. “Describe him.”

“Black hair, tall, blue eyes, cheeky. Or he used to be. He's seemed so broken of late. I am afraid for him. I don't know if he'd even help me if I asked, or just think me started down my father’s madness.”

‘Arthur,” she tilted her head, and said softly, “in all the views of your possible future, I have never seen this boy you speak of with such care.”

He sucks in a breath. “So, he's just not there? Why is he not there?”

Her gaze softened. ”I see no black haired boy in your future. Cherish what time you have left with him Arthur, make peace with him, for your fears may be well grounded. You have good instincts, trust that they will lead you to uncover this long kept secret.”

He choked. “Please, not Merlin.”

Her gaze went soft as he stood silent. “He is a friend to you?” She continued on, not waiting for an answer. “Listen to him, you have no idea how many words he has left before he is gone. Look at him and drink your fill, for I can only tell you the heartache of losing someone and soon forgetting the shape of their lips, the feel of their hands, the sound of their voice. Heal this rift Arthur, and let me return to my sleep. Let me return to my memories of those I’ve lost.”

She smiled bittersweet. “If he is not a knight, then maybe you are right, and he will be the key to finding this powerful soul who protects Camelot. Maybe you will listen to him. Perhaps that will be his last gift to you, his friend. To brook peace between you and this warlock, who holds Camelot so carefully in his hands.”

Arthur closed his eyes and ran his hand over his face. When he opened them, he was alone.

  
  


The ride back to the road was uncomfortable and filled with a swirling mass of emotions. A part of him desperately wished to discount the afternoon, while the rest of him simply combed over every memory, wondering just what it was that he hadn’t seen, if what she said was true.

His thoughts turned to Morgana, as they often did when he was anxious, and his mount wandered as it willed, taking him back home.

Home. Camelot was actually more in danger because of him, in more danger than any threat he’d faced down on her behalf before. He huffed his breath and let loose a sardonic laugh.

“And I thought Merlin had ruined this hunt.”

The sun was near set before he entered the inner gates, and walked his destrier to the stables.

He wanted to talk with Merlin, but his insides were churning and his heart just leapt into his throat at every attempt to think over how to begin his talk. How could he possibly explain this to him without sounding mad or enchanted. How would Merlin, who started at even the mere mention of sorcery, take the knowledge of some dead woman’s vision of his death?

Arthur shuddered. He would never speak of that to him.

His chambers were warm, and a covered plate on the table when he entered, Merlin’s absence loudly declaring his frustration with Arthur.

Finding himself with no appetite after the events of the day, he sat at his window and took in the courtyard below. After a few moments Merlin appeared and he watched with a frown as Merlin walked, shoulders bent and head down. Others passed him by, while some stop to talk to him, but he doesn’t seem to respond.

Arthur shivered in his seat, and stared at Merlin in silence.

  
  


Arthur pushed open the door to the physician’s chambers, hoping that his timing would give him a chance to have breakfast with Merlin, before the hectic schedule of the day took over his time.

“Sire, is everything alright?” Gaius queried.

“Yes, I was just hoping to speak with Merlin.”

The old man shook his head. “I thought it strange.”

“What strange?”

“Merlin told me he had the day off. That he planned to get some errands done.”

Arthur sat down at the physician’s table and began to worriedly trace the wood grain. “Something’s wrong with Merlin.”

Gaius sighed and sat down opposite. “It’s been a harsh winter, sire. Keeping up with you, with everything has taken its toll on him. Give him time, he’ll come around.”

“Time?” He asked, voice low and soft. He mused and looked away, “Sometimes, I just wish…”

“Wish what, sire?”

“Wish I knew what was coming. How much time I had…” he trailed off, uncertain. “Morgana, she,” he swallowed around the lump in his throat at her name. “She could see things. It's an advantage.”

Gaius shook his head. “You speak treason sire.”

“I wish things were different. That I knew things then. And now, with Merlin.”

Gaius sighed and shook his head again, “You pay a terrible price, knowing the future.”

“What can a seer see?”

Gaius quietly watched the young King and took his time with the reply. “I imagine it depends on what they are meant to see. Things important to them.”

“Is there a reason a seer couldn't see something?”

Gaius raised an eyebrow in curiosity, “a seer cannot see their children's future. It was a gift given, long ago.”

“A gift?”

“Can you imagine the pain of birthing a child and dreaming of their deaths?”

He thinks of Morgana and falls silent, returning his gaze to the grain of the table. “Do you think Merlin could come see me when he comes back?”

Gaius troubled gaze softened, “I’ll send him to you.”

  
  


He sits at the window and thinks over the ghost’s words. That he only honors the knights. That he only pays attention to matters of war.

But that's not all he listens to.

Around his table, there is Gaius and Gwen, it's not all knights.

But. There is no place for Merlin, and despite his occasional, well quirks, Merlin can be quite wise.

Arthur thought over what to say to Gwen, to Gaius, to Merlin, about asking them to search for this magic user. The idea finds him moody, wondering if he’s not just falling into some scheme or plan, meant to unbalance or divide his inner court.

It just didn’t make sense to him. That maybe things weren’t what they seemed, that maybe he spent too much time letting his knights direct his thoughts and not enough of the rest of his court, he could agree on - but the idea he was so very clueless to what happened within his own walls just didn’t sit well with him.

But then again, look at Morgana… and he recalled Merlin’s suspicions and the heated glances between them.

Merlin saw so much and, said so much. Just Arthur dismissed it as prattle. What did Merlin see that Arthur didn’t know. Or did Merlin tell him, and he just didn’t listen? Merlin who could not trust his King to tell him what was wrong.

One thing was sure, he would have to begin by earning Merlin’s trust before he moved on to some magic wielder.

His stomach knotted tighter, and he let his head hit the glass pane. Merlin, who could barely hold it together enough to find his way out of an ale glass for near a week?

Arthur was torn in frustration; that Merlin had become so unreliable, and that Arthur wanted to find a way to get him to open up, to protect him. He was going to have to find a way to unravel the mystery that was Merlin of late before he set him or anyone else out chasing after magic.

Arthur solemnly vowed to listen this time, no matter how insensible he could seem, Merlin’s words held the key to how Arthur would proceed.

  
  


In the weeks that followed, he began to watch Merlin, tuning into his facial expressions. He encouraged him, and took extra time and care to work on his footwork, not just using him as practice, taunting him again and again as he always over-protected his left side.

But he balanced the time spent improving him with time spent appreciating him. He no longer sent him to the stables, and others cared for his armor after practice.

Merlin was strangely insistent about serving him breakfast, no matter how many mornings he insisted on letting someone else wake him.

Arthur began to touch, mostly Merlin's dark hair, using any excuse to ruffle his bare hands through it. It's a gesture that once meant exasperation, that now held something warmer and more welcoming. The grins and shy smiles it created keep taunting him to do it as often as he can find reason.

A winter he had not realized had set about his rooms began to slowly thaw.

He started to sit him at his table, and share his dinner, the strange camaraderie of sharing one plate, until one night Merlin just appears with two, and a jug of honey wine and they stay up long into the night debating castle gossip and roman military strategy.

Merlin laid long at the food of the bed, idly playing with a spare blanket as a pillow, Arthur in his chair, sword across his lap as he occasionally used it to gesture, and perhaps once or twice threaten swift execution when Merlin's points did not agree with his.

It was the second time in the night he'd done it, blade long and firm as he pointed at Merlin's throat and ordered his summary death at such a ludicrous statement of pike men versus calvary.

Merlin quieted and looked anywhere but at him, stood and bowed goodnight.

"It's late, I uh,” his adam’s apple bobbed, “I see your point..." he trailed off. "I'll see myself out."

Arthur found himself focused on Merlin’s adam's apple, where it bobbed and his mind rattled. He bowed? He was so shocked at Merlin’s behavior, he didn’t say a word before the door was shut and he was gone.

For a long while after Merlin had left, Arthur sat tipsy in his chair and spoke aloud to himself.

“I can beat on him all day with a bare blade, and pointing a blunt ceremonial sword at him practically has his heart beat out of his chest. What farm boy knows cavalry so well he can wax over how empires rise and fall due to the changed shape of a spur, and yet can hardly hold a shield?”

Arthur doesn't know, but his wine-warm glow within reminded him that he doesn't need to understand it all at once, he just needed to listen. The past few weeks he’d been so careful with him, mindful, and not once had he slipped away to drink away his grief? Pain? Frustrations? Maybe it was Arthur who had caused him such misery.

He'd be more careful with Merlin next time. His thoughts lit a smile, and he slept well. He would listen, and he would unravel this mystery. He would listen to Merlin, and he would fix this looming threat.

Something tight unwound within him. With Merlin beside him, there was never a threat that could not be overcome.

He'd chase away the fear in his eyes and ruffle his hair and keep him safe by his side.

Arthur started, and stood from his chair. Some of the frustration that had torn his thoughts in two as to how to proceed felt healed and unified.

Arthur would see Merlin at his side. He would see him honored for all that he had did, day in and day out for his King. A smile grew wide and a plan began to take form as he crawled into bed.

  
  


The first day of spring, he convened the roundtable.

“I've had a lot of decisions lately that have kept me away from everyone here. And much thinking to do,” he huffed a laugh at himself, “a lot of thinking to do.”

“Mostly I've been thinking a lot about things I meant to do, but for one reason or another didn't complete. I've been doing a lot of listening. Strangely, I've been thinking a lot about Lancelot, of the things he said and did. And I think of anyone here, he would have appreciated what I plan to do the most.”

“Please stand and push in your chairs. Bonds have been forged, and battles fought since we first sat in these chairs, I would,” he spread his hands, “change this table.”

“Guinevere stay here at my left hand.”

“Leon, will you sit beside my queen and lend her your sword in all the things she may ever need, protect her from all that would harm her, and stand as my second should anything befall me?”

“Elyan, please sit beside Leon, and learn from his wisdom, and be the shield to your sister in all things?”

“Gwaine, just,” he on pulled his arm as Gwaine laughed, and he drug him halfway across the table. “You will sit here, directly across from me where I can keep a good eye on you.” The murmur of amusement rolled across the room.

“Gauis, will you sit here between Elyan and Gwaine, a bit of council to the hotter heads?” He nodded, and solemnly took Lancelot's place.

He walked back his seat and paused before Percival. He motioned him closer till his head bent to listen, while Arthur murmured in his ear.

“I swear.” His reply was solemn.

Arthur smiled softly. “Then take your new place.” Percival walked to the right hand of the king and sat one space down.

“Then we are in accord.”

He walked to his seat, Merlin pulled the chair out and he sat, sweeping his cloak to the side.

“People of Camelot. Friends of the round table. I find myself,” a slow smirk creeped across his features. “Find myself with an empty seat. Anyone have a suggestion on who to appoint?”

Leon's smile was the first Arthur caught, and his gaze waved across the table as bits of laughter and smiles went easily to their faces. A fidget and a cough from behind his chair pushed him from a smirk to a snicker. “Merlin. Who would you appoint?”

Merlin stopped his fidgeting, and stood intensely still, and Arthur took the time to gaze up at him, and for a moment his heart caught to see his face down turned, his lashes half closed and his body tense at the unusual scrutiny. For a moment, Arthur was afraid he'd made a mistake, that Merlin took his actions to be teasing. That he'd turned him away instead of drawing him out.

Quietly, he replied. “I'd appoint a druid.”

Arthur started. “What? What,” he remembered the ghost’s warning him to listen, to her, to his promise to be worthy, to be someone that could be trusted. How could he get someone with magic to trust him if he couldn’t even get Merlin to answer honestly a single question. “That's... not what I would have thought you'd say. Why would you suggest that?”

“It's uh... it's a dumb idea. Sorry I, just don’t mind me.” Arthur could see him turn inward, an embarrassed blush as he rubbed the back of his head. Stop this! his mind screamed out. Do you have so little faith in me that you can’t even complete that sentence?

He steadied himself. “No, no, it's not a dumb idea, I just want to know what you were thinking.” He let out a breath and listened to Merlin stammer.

“They don't have anyone here to represent them…” it came out in a rush. Then he seemed to find his ground and he looked down at Arthur with with more conviction in his voice. “You said friends of the round table, and you offered friendship and peace to the druids.”

He tilted his head. “That's... that's a really good point Merlin. I'll remember that next time.” He felt almost stunned to silence. It was unsettling how often Arthur was surprised by Merlin's wisdom when he actually stopped and took the time to listen.

For a moment Merlin and he locked eyes, Merlin's breath small pants while Arthur breathed deep, trying to listen with more than just his ears. The moment stretched uncomfortably while Arthur just looked. His cheeks were flushed and he wanted to dart away. He was afraid. Was it the question or the answer? Was it being here in front of him? Was it for championing someone not normally looked upon with respect in Camelot?

“Sit down Merlin”. He reached up and took his hand. “Sit here.”

Merlin's eyes went wide with shock. “But…”

“My mind has been made up for a long time. I just never understood exactly how to go about it. I was told recently that I had to make room in my ... world... for things more than just my knights. I thought of you. How you deserve recognition for your loyalty. It can’t be easy following me.”

The shout across the table from Gwaine gave a smile to his face... “Ah, good to know. I wasn't sure.”

“But that's... that's an important seat. I'm... I'm not important Arthur. I’m just a servant. You should give that to someone who matters.” He stammered and Arthur looked to his throat, seeing him swallow and he remembered the incident with the sword not weeks before. Somewhere the past year, his brave friend had become lost. It was time Arthur gave back some of the words, the loyalty Merlin so freely shared with him.

“I've raised the others to knights, it was high time I did something to you.” Merlin took a step back, as if in fear.

He sighed softly. “Oh Merlin... don't you think it's time you stopped hiding in the shadows?”

His words were a knife slid into his gut, deep and low. A visceral, throbbing stab, tearing and cold. Panic, he was going to lose him. Hope, if he was this shadow, then he could still be there in his future. Rage, he never, never said a word, just stood behind him all this time. Treachery after all this time. Guilt. Had he reduced him to this?

“Arthur?” Merlin looked at him eyes glazed with fear. “What's wrong?”

Arthur unclenched Merlin's hand from the tight balled fist he didn't realize he was making and looked.

And he did not like what he saw. Pain was clear across his face. Worry, doubt. Uncertainty. A breath of long held despair. Fear. Fear of him. Of being sat in this chair. Of being seen. Fear of the pyre? Fear of being called traitor? Fear of Arthur.

This was not the gaze of a man who inspired hope when the world was at its darkest.

No wonder he went to the tavern. It was the ceremonial sword all over again. Threats that would cow a king he'd stand strong, but those that should hold no threat; Camelot, friends, words, being listened to, being seen, those stopped his heart.

He let out a breath "No more..." his voice caught. "No more shadows. No more hiding, okay?"

Merlin started at the raw edge to his voice. He slumped in the seat and his eyes turned to concern. "Are you... okay?"

Arthur stared at their clasped hands, and realized he'd been squeezing so tightly it must have hurt. He relaxed his grip and slid a tentative brush of fingers over his palm.

“I will be.”

The action resulted in a smile so bright and blinding, Arthur fell stunned for the second time in so very few minutes. The devotion he saw there, and the relief and the joy. He wondered for a moment what Merlin saw when he truly looked at him.

Percival saw the exchange and reached out for Merlin's other hand. "I am your knight Merlin, and I have sworn to protect you. To be your sword."

Merlin looked up at Percival and smiled. "That's, that's very generous of you, and of you, sire."

Arthur coughed and struggled to regain himself, releasing Merlin's hand.

Percival nodded. "It's what Lancelot would have," he sighed, determined, "it's what Lancelot did."

Merlin's eyes went dark and he tilted his head to look at Arthur with a smile gone bittersweet. "He did, unto his last breath. He was a good man. I can't express how much I miss him."

Leon watched the pair and leaned out to pick up his glass. "To Merlin! To Lancelot! We miss you our friend, but you would be proud of the one who took your place."

The cheers went about the table and Merlin licked his lips nervously and shakily reached for the glass in front of him. "To Lancelot! To," His eyes went to the table,"to my friend."

Arthur's world was a storm and he needed to get out. He'd raised Merlin to sit beside him, but all he felt was the shadow of his former knight, and the painful press of knowledge low in his gut, twisting and taunting him with darker words and darker thoughts. “You are... you are all dismissed.”

Gwaine whooped and crushed Merlin with a hug. "Rising sun?"

"Hell, yes!" Elyan's reply was filled with cheer.

And Merlin was drug from the room in a riot of laughter, his eyes never leaving Arthur’s, and a smile never reaching his eyes.

Gwen plucked at Arthur's sleeve with a full, warm knowing grin. "Going with them?"

He swallowed hard. "No, I'll just, just cause a fuss. I'll catch them when they get back."

Leon looked at him, long and hard and searching. "It was well done."

"I..." he let out a long breath, "I hope so, for all our sake's."

At that Leon looked at him perplexed. "Merlin's been your rock since the day that boy tumbled through the gates. Most of that time you were throwing things at him, but he's grown. You have benefited from his wisdom."

A guttural laugh escaped from him, "yes, the wisdom of the idiot."

"Sire, you're the only one who ever calls him that. We didn't think think you meant it. Just that it was an,” he fumbled for the words, “an endearment. A nickname. He's not, and has never been an idiot. Sure, he's a terrible servant with his... insubordinate nature... but he's not stupid.”

“I don't know Leon. Some days I think walking through the gates of camelot might have been the stupidest thing he's ever done.”

Leon took his dark humor in stride. “Don't beat yourself up too harshly about how you first treated him. You both learned from each other.”

“What... what do you think Merlin learned from me? I've beaten him bloody for a dirty floor, and trained him as hard as half the squires, and he's only a passable swordsman at best. What the hell do you think he's ever learned from me.” Arthur distracted himself by pouring a cup of water from the pitcher on the sideboard.

Leon was surprised at the anger.

"Well, first I'd say that he'd make an excellent retainer. He's got a head for figures, a way with words, and can tease information out of a man or book that would take scholars weeks to un-knot. He's got backbone, is braver than most knights, has an excellent sense of right and wrong, and isn't afraid to speak out over injustice. He's shown complete loyalty to you, and honestly, if you mean what you said about getting him out of your shadow, would be a man worthy of leading. He'd keep your castle running and your lords happy while campaigns or travel took you from this city.”

"Arthur, he's the best of us, and he is your friend. it was a good idea, and about bloody time."

"You think... it's about time I honored Merlin?"

"God yes. You've groomed him well, and that sorry excuse for rags he wears is about the only peasant part of him left."

"Leon, I don't think Merlin's really a peasant at all.”

"You've been to his village."

"Yes, well" he took a drink, "I think he grew up there, but there is nothing peasant about him but those horrid clothes."

"So drag the boy to a tailor and fix it."

"I am trying to figure exactly what I'm fixing." He nervously moved the cup in his fingers, moving it inch by inch in a circle in his hands.

"Well," Leon was at a loss for a moment, "well start with the tailor and go from there."

  
  


Arthur huddled in his chair, hiding in his chambers. His mind listed from revelation to self doubt like a drunken sailor, and he felt as if his insides were made of acid, as every swallow, every line of thought, burned through all he’d assumed stable in his lifetime.

An hour, perhaps two passed, while he worked his hands through his hair and muttered in the silence, before a booming knock shattered his self-flagellation.

“It’s me Princess, open up.”

Arthur shook in his seat and it took two tries to stand. “Peace, Gwaine, give me a moment.”

He’d only just opened the door when Gwaine pushed inside, “he's terrified, he's shaking like a leaf in the corner of the tavern. What the hell did you do?”

His voice was small. “I think it’s obvious Gwaine. I gave Merlin a seat at the round table.”

“Yes, and then you practically freaked out over it.”

“It's ... I was thinking” he snorted, lost for words. “Just, fine. Just... Morgana, okay?”

“Morgana?” he shook his head. “So stop scaring the hell out of merlin. I thought today was to be a big new beginning where you finally started treating Merlin the way he deserved, like a friend and not a doormat.”

He choked at that. “I think it is a new beginning Gwaine, I just didn't realize exactly how big.”

Gwaine reached a hand up to rub his neck and rolled his shoulders. “God, you're maudlin. How bad are you when you're drinking?”

“I don't know, let's,” he sucked in a breath, then let it out slow, “let's find out.” He pulled down an old bottle of brandy he'd been gifted years before from the top of his bookshelf.

Gwaine eyed the bottle and then him. “That's not exactly something you normally crack open.”

“Haven't cracked it at all.”

He poured two fingers in two glasses, and belted one back in a smooth movement. He refilled his glass and sat contemplative at the table, silence stretching thin. A sardonic laugh broke from him. “Ah, hell, I just appointed a mage as my right hand in Camelot, why the hell not? I think that deserves a drink.”

Gwaine sucked in a breath through clenched teeth, and sat down the glass. “What the bloody hell are you going on about, Arthur?”

Arthur looked up. “So what, you never knew? I was beginning to think everyone knew but me.”

“No I didn't. Explains a few things, tho’ don'it. Why we’ve always been so lucky? And God knows he's the only one who loves you more than sense.”

Arthur starts. “What do you mean by that?”

“Well he's the only one who'd risk death to keep you alive, right?”

Arthur’s mind shuddered to a stop. He closed his eyes and leaned over his glass. “I just promoted a sorcerer to my right hand at the round table.”

“You promoted Merlin,” his voice was soft.

“A sorcerer, Gwaine. He’s a, a bloody, Sor-cer-er,” Arthur cried out.

“Like that matters.” At Arthur’s silence, Gwaine growled. “What the hell does he see in you?”

He lifted the glass and brought it to his forehead, eyes cast down. “I don't know, I really don't. Don't know why he's afraid, or don't know if there is reason for him to be afraid. ...I'm not my father, but sometimes I don't think I can get out from under his shadow.”

Arthur huffed a laugh. “Shadow.”

“And I just... don't know why he'd hide it. I don't know why he'd do it. If he really felt it was something we needed, he could have.. talked to me. I would have listened to him and his reasons.”

“Maybe it was Morgana. He knew we had no way to fight back. And you wouldn't have seen a bit of sense. In a way, he always saw things before you. You just never listened to him. What are you going to tell him?”

“I don't know. So I'm just not going to say anything at all.”

“So what, you'll just keep him in the dark, keep using him? Turn this all into some cat and mouse game?”

“I'm not ... using him.”

Gwaine pushed close to him. “But now you think you know why the knights are so damn lucky while we're out on patrol, when the latest monster arrives. And what, he can just keep his mouth shut and go about doing your dirty work?”

Gwaine’s voice lowered to a plead. “He's risking his life twice over for you Arthur... and what happens when the wrong man sees Arthur?”

“I... I don't know.” He held his head in his hands. “I just don’t know.”

  
  


To win himself space and time to think, Arthur suggested Merlin visit his mother, and Percival volunteered to join him. Arthur coaxed him to lessen his guilt; fine gifts of food and wool and candles; things for a village far far away from Camelot, far from his inner demons.

He saw them off the next morning, and a part of Arthur died inside at the glow in Merlin’s eyes, and he was certain he was physically wounded when Merlin's arms suddenly wrapped themselves around his chest in thanks.

He watched as they wandeedr off in the spring sunshine, two smiling faces, one broad and one lean that slipped from the city gate.

It took everything his father taught him to hold back the urge to run after Merlin, to tug him into his arms and beg him to explain. To return the hug he had just so coldly scoffed away. Arthur bottled it all close to his chest and it filled the space behind his heart, expanded over his lungs, and plunged every breath into a heavy, frozen throb of need.

The days that followed Gwaine positively seethed violence, and Arthur made sure not to meet him on the training grounds.

  
  


The first night of Merlin’s absence, he dreamed of him.

Merlin in the great hall, as a marionette, controlled by some hidden master in the shadows of the balcony. As a jester, a trickster, a wide, maniacal grin, laughing at him after some long hidden game where what he thought was his friend is revealed to be nothing but a fraud. Arthur beat at his strings with his sword, they snap with the sound of bone, and a cry of pain, and they fall.

He looked up to taunt the puppet master, and saw himself step forward, the board in his hands, the strings swinging broken and ragged.

Arthur looked down to where Merlin the marionnette sprawled on the stones, and saw his mouth move, gasping out soft words. Kneeling close, he heard him murmur, eyes staring blankly, “I am happy to serve you, until the day I die.” Arthur put his hand in his mouth in horror, as the voice went still, and blood dripped from his lips down his chin. He could see the wetness of his tunic, slashed gashes across his body. The snapped strings began to turn red, rivulets of blood and Merlin the boy faded into nothing more than a stuffed lifeless puppet, stuffing pulled loose, cloth face frayed and tinged with blood.

He woke to the gloom of early dawn and groaned. He regretted sending him away. Merlin was the only source of answers.

Merlin would never again leave his side.

  
  


Arthur spent his day filled with others, anything to fill the gap beside him. He paid full attention to matters he’d normally delegate, and brought stacks of reports on even the most trivial of items to his solar.

The evenings were the worst, stuffed with silence, empty of presence.

He held out for four nights before making his way to Gaius’ quarters. They spoke of the city, of plans for the upcoming crops. Slowly they circled to Merlin.

“What does he think of magic?”

Gaius sipped his tea and thought for a moment. “I don't think he does.”

“He's, he’s not an idiot, he has to have some opinion,” Arthur shook his head and fidgeted in his seat at the old table.

“No, he certainly is not. But I think he thinks of magic the way you would a sword - he's more interested in who is wielding it than magic itself.”

In a strange way, Arthur could see his point. It still didn't solve things. It didn't explain his silence. It didn't explain Morgana. But for once someone didn't completely duck his questions.

“And you... practiced it once.”

“I did.”

“Do you think it changed you?

Gaius raised a brow, “How would it change me?”

“Just that,” he shook his head once more, “nevermind. I heard…” he trailed off, and Gaius sat patiently, sipping tea, “I heard that people are born with magic. They have it or they don’t.”

“This is true. Magic itself no more changes who a person is than the color of their hair.” Gaius spoke softly with his back turned, reaching over the sideboard to pour more tea.

“And do you…” he hesitated. “Do you know others who were born since the purge with magic?”

He stilled and looked up, eyes assessing, and after a long tense silence, he nodded.

Arthur took a deep breath and willed his hands to still. “Is that why Merlin came to Camelot?”

Gaius’ skin went grey, and his hand trembled till the tea dripped over the side. “I believe sire, if you would want an answer to why he came here, you had best speak with Merlin.”

Arthur knew a dismissal for what it was, and he saw himself out.

  
  


When Merlin and Percival did not return after the expected he week, Arthur's insides roiled. His mind turned over everything it had ever known of the two men. Of his men. His loyal and lying manservant. His quiet giant of a knight.

He taunted and avoided the other knights in turn. Gaius rooms were treated with the same thought as if they were plague-ridden. Gwen fled to her rooms and swore off his company after the first cold uneasy dinner erupted into a broken plate, and a fork impaled an inch into the heartwood.

The evenings found him sitting alone in the great hall, looking over the empty chairs while his thoughts stormed over the past few years. How could he trust Merlin when he couldn’t even trust his own memories? When Merlin couldn’t show him any trust?

He would never welcome Merlin by his side again.

  
  


When they had not returned by the end of the second week, Arthur's mood turned positively murderous. He summoned Gwaine.

“No princess, didn't say a word. Figured you'd have a little prissy fit soon enough and we'd get all this over with.”

“So, you didn't... you didn't tell them to run away?”

“No I didn't. However, it definitely could have occurred to him. You went awfully twitchy when you gave him that seat.”

He leaned his head against the window casement. “I wanted... I wanted to believe the best in him, but he just runs…”

“God dammit Arthur. Are you really this bloody fucking petty? This damn selfish?”

“Get out Gwaine. I've heard enough.”

“Nope! Sorry princess, we're going to go a few rounds on this one. You're just all bent because maybe he’s been delayed? Or spent an extra day or two? Maybe something happened on the road ...or…” he shrugged and then looked up with a withering stare, ”the the real fear here, Merlin figured you out? Prat's figured shit out and is probably gonna kill me? Maybe I should what, hide my mother so he doesn't go burn her too? Maybe see if the villagers might run before you send the knights to tear them all to the ground?”

“What?” He turned and roared. “What the hell was that Gwaine?”

“It's what your father did. Or weren’t you paying attention?”

“And speaking of emulating your delightful father, when the hell did you ever show Merlin you were worthy of his trust. You demanded it! Sure, he believed in you. He protected you. He braved death every damn day in no armor, and hell, looks like breathing in this place was likely to get him killed if you looked at him at the wrong time.”

“I would never... never have let him burn.” He spoke softly to his hands.

“Oh you sure about that mate, because as I recall not only did you watch Merlin get tied to the stake, you let your father send Gwen and Gaius there as well.” He crossed his arms. “You let Gwen’s father die for it.The only thing that saved him was that you thought he was an idiot. Not because you were his friend. Not because of what he'd done for you, no. But because you thought him too stupid, too poor, too bedraggled to be anything worth noticing!” He leaned in close. “I don't think Merlin would chance his mother on that track record you've got.”

He breathed deep and tried to contain himself. “But for you, he did it anyways. You needed it. So he did it. Merlin would give everything he had to see you safe, it just turns out he had a bit more to give than the rest of us knights. You're right, he really is an idiot.”

“And you get this burr in your saddle and just what, start actually paying attention? Things haven't added up for years, and suddenly every time Merlin's head is turned your eyes are glued to him. Like you just suddenly noticed he exists. What the hell happened to make you this bloody jumpy, when for years you didn't even notice him when we were riding out?”

Arthur slumped at the desk, and leaned forward till his head rested in his hands, eyes closed.

Gwaine's voice softened. "You know speaking of riding out, he used to be practically invisible, a separate part of the party, always at the rear some length away, until one day Lancelot literally drags him into the middle of us, and that was how it was for every ride after that. I asked him about it one day." His voice went very quiet and reserved. "Lance sat me down and made it real clear to me, it was so that even if he wasn't there, we wouldn't leave him behind. He made all of us vow we would never leave him behind."

"At the time, I didn't know why Merlin was petrified of being left. Turns out you used to leave him behind all the time. The way Lance looked it was a pretty murderous expression. I get the idea he went back to get him a few times and there were a few bits of Merlin missing."

Arthur’s eyes went wide, and then sad. "I think it started with Lancelot. I think he was helping him." He lifted his head and put his hand on his sword hilt, the thoughts dark and burdened.

Gwaine shrugged. "Lance always helped Merlin. He was Merlin's knight. As am I. And I don't think Merlin ran away, I think he's in trouble. He'd have checked on his mother and then he'd always come back to you, whether you wanted him or not. Whether you had a pyre lit waiting or not, he'd come back to you. He was always a fool like that."

“Lancelot always believed in him. Did he ever believe in me?”

“Well princess, I sure don't.”

He walked forward till he was close enough to touch, and stopped. "So I'm going to ride out and find out what happened with my mates. And it looks like I won't be needing this." He reached up and unclasped his cloak, letting it drop to the floor.

"As I have no intention of bringing him back here when I do find him."

"Gwaine, please. You’re both members of the round table, I can't just have you both up and disappear." Arthur's eyes were locked on the puddle of crimson at his feet.

"No, Arthur. I'm a member. You never officially told anyone about Merlin. He's just been your dirty little secret. He's not important remember? He knew it. So you ... wait... that's when you figured it out isn't it? That look on your face. Gods, he was petrified. He shook the entire way to the lower town!”

“I was afraid he was gonna pass out, and I'm thinking it's nerves, because Merlin knows the responsibility of that position, but NO he's sitting in the corner holding on to some pissy little drank of cider, waiting for you to burst in with some fit of rage? Call him traitor and shout and make excuses about how your little feelings were hurt because you finally got a fucking clue?”

Gwaine stopped his shouting and just sighed, “he could always read your moods.”

“There is just no point in talking to you when you're like this.” He made a face. “Only person who can get you to see sense is Merlin.”

“Oh wait. Was Merlin.” And without a word or a glance at Arthur, he left.

  
  


The dreams were a torment, filled with darkness and movement in the shadows. In one, hope appeared in the form of the familiar orb of light and he followed it until he woke.

The cold light of dawn covered him, pale and shaking. His throat clenched in memory of the glow. At least someone cared. He clenched the blankets to his chest and spoke to the empty room, "that was Merlin, wasn't it?"

The pressure on his heart increased and he felt sick. He'd sent him away, hadn't he?

She was right. He cast the darkest of shadows.

  
  


It's another week before Arthur heard from Gwaine. A week of nightmares and self doubt, anger and fear in equal measure.

Gwaine rode through the bailey at full speed, and threw himself from the horse in front of the stairs. He began to shout before he reached the top, asking after the king.

Leon heard and intercepted him.

“It's Merlin, Leon, it's Merlin.” He shook with rage and gulped down air. “They took Merlin. They took down Percival and drug them off to gods know where. Or why.”

“What? Who. Lot's men. Bandits. Druids. The trees. Rabid squirrels with a penchant for human flesh. I don't know. Don’t even care. It must have been an ambush, not much else could take down Percy but surprise,” he heaved a breath, “we have to go find them.”

The doors slammed open and all heads looked up from the long council table.

“Sire, a word?” Gwaine’s face was grim, and he kept a firm grip on his sword.

Arthur looked up with gritted his teeth. “I believe it's obvious we are in session. It can wait.”

Gwaine went white and swayed where he stood. “Please.”

“I don't want to hear it. I think you've made your stance quite clear. Send him to my room to wait on me.”

Gwaine reached a hand up to clutch at his mouth and turned to Leon, eyes filled with pain. A strangled sound made it past his lips. Leon turned to stare at Arthur, utterly confused.

“Your majesty.”

“Please refrain Sir Leon. “

“No.” It's quiet, but decisive. “I don't know your,” he floundered, “issues with Gwaine, but I'll not let them suffer for it. Merlin never made it to Ealdor.”

Arthur's face went bloodless. “He never made it... made it home?”

“He and Percival just disappeared. Let's hope .. let us hope... whoever took them that they decide they're BOTH valuable enough to ransom... and not just kill them outright,” he finished lamely.

Leon closed his eyes. “Did you ever take him to the tailor, Arthur?” His name was unusual in so public a space.

“What, no. What…” his face crumpled. After a moment he spoke, his voice leaden. “He was wearing his usual clothes. They wouldn't... they aren't going to ransom him are they?” He held his silence for a beat, and then spoke in a whisper, “but they will ransom Percival.”

Leon shook his head. “I think Percival would have understood the situation, and defended his friend to his last breath.”

“It is what Lancelot would have done.” He dropped the quill. “Gather the knights, we'll have to put out word…”

“Arthur.. it's been... almost a month. What is done is done.”

“Leon, we have to bring him home. Bring them both home.”

Leon looked to find Gwaine. He's not far, standing in the shadows of the great hall, silent and deflated, one hand on the stone wall in mute support.

“He knows. We're going to ride out. We'll find him, find Percy and bring him home.”

“Will we, Leon?”

“We will Gwaine. I promise. We'll find them.”

“I... I know we'll find them. I just don't know if we'll bring him home.”

“You think he sent Merlin away? Is that why you were arguing?”

“I know he sent him away,” he spoke bitterly.

Leon shook his head. “But why? He promoted him to the round table. I mean, not a knight, but... do that and then just send him off? Arthur wouldn't do that.”

Gwaine almost sneered. “He regretted it the minute he put him into that chair. You saw his face. Hell Merlin knew it, he practically ran from the room!”

“He was acting oddly afterwards. Just very... well if it was anyone other than Arthur, I'd say introspective.”

“What did he say?”

“Just seemed to want reassurance he'd done the right thing. That he wasn't aware of how big a step he was taking. He talked about when Merlin first came to Camelot.... asked something odd. He asked what he'd taught Merlin.”

“I thought about it later down at the tavern. I think he was just nervous. He knew how to train and raise up a knight, how to judge them. But Merlin is always a tough one to understand, how do you judge a man like Merlin?”

“He's a friend! And blindingly loyal to Arthur, loves Camelot, its king, far too much to see anything happen to it. He listens to people, and they listen back. Arthur has nothing to teach Merlin but how to cower in fear and flinch at his moods”.

“Arthur may be king, but they trust Merlin.”

“Exactly. When Morgana attacked, Merlin reached out to Lancelot and I. And we came. Even though Camelot and its prince were no friends to us. Never once did we think of the consequences, we came. I never realized just how deep Merlin's devotion ran. There's loyalty and fealty, and then there's Merlin that puts it into a whole 'nother category. I'm sorry Leon. I just don't think very much of Arthur.”

“That's not true... yes…” Leon holds out a hand to his arm. “You don't think much of Arthur when Merlin isn't here. He's half the man.”

The sound of boots in the hall shuttered Gwaine's face.

“Where is Elyan.”

“We haven't spoken with Elyan yet.”

“Find him, we leave immediately.”

Gwaine looked at Arthur, and Arthur stared at Leon until the silence stretched, brittle and broke.

Leon sighed and patted Gwaine’s shoulder. “We'll find him.”

  
  


Arthur whirled into his chambers, throwing open wardrobe doors to grab his things. Gwen looked up, startled at her desk. “What happened?”

“Gwen I have to go. I'm sorry,” he mindlessly pulled out tunic and gambeson. “Merlin never made it to Ealdor, I have to go.”

“Arthur, you’re the King now. You must stay here. Let the knights…” she took the tunic from his hands, “here let me.”

“No no I've got to go. It's the only way he'll come back.”

“They will find him. You are needed here. There is nothing you can do that they cannot,” she began folding the tunic and returning it to its place.

“Guinevere. I. I.. Was not a good friend. I haven't been a good friend to Merlin. And if I don't ride out and get him, he's never going to come back to Camelot.”

“Arthur, he'd never…”

He cut her off. “I trust you. Trust me. I've messed things up badly and I need to do this. I need to go fix this. I've got to find him.”

She hesitated, then nodded.

He grabbed her shoulders. “Please. Please for once, believe me, believe in me? Elyan will stay here, he’ll keep you safe.” He stumbled over his words, and she mutely nodded. “And Guinevere? Can you, would you,” he tossed trousers on the bed, “can you tell Gaius? I…” he stopped for a moment, startled at how much his voice warbled, “I just can’t.”

  
  


They gathered in the bailey, Elyan pulling on tack and tying bedrolls to saddles.

Leon walked close to Arthur, lines furrowed on his forehead.

“Sire, what you said when we interrupted council. That,” he lowered his voice, “we'd bring him home?”

“Yes.” It's not a question, but a statement.

“You said he never made it home. Do you mean to bring him home to Ealdor or home to Camelot, Arthur?”

Arthur hissed a breath between his teeth. “You've been talking to Gwaine.”

Leon leaned back and took a long look. “No, I've been listening to you.”

  
  


They rode out of Camelot on the warmest day yet that year, and followed the road to Essetir, stopping in the first of many tiny hamlets and asking about the travellers, about any news, retracing Gwaine’s steps.

A giant of a man in Camelot’s colors would not have just escaped notice. Arthur could not bring himself to bear to ask about Merlin.

They find news of the pair in three villages, the last where they watered the horses and Merlin did sleight of hand tricks with the stable lads. After that, no trace was found.

Casting a wide circle, they moved north and west, closer and closer to Ealdor, until at not a day's walk, Gwaine’s facade cracked and the despair leaked from his voice. “Arthur, we should tell her.”

“Gwaine, we don't know anything yet.”

“She already knows something is wrong - I had to talk to her to find out they hadn't made it all the way yet. I couldn't... I'm not about to lie to her.”

“Arthur, We should tell her he's missing. If something happens and he gets away, he'll go there.”

Arthur didn’t look up, just kept his eyes on his hands in the reins.

And Leon’s face fell, at the dawning realization that Gwaine's fears are true, that Arthur did send him away, as even Arthur doesn't argue that no, he'd ride hell bent home to Camelot's walls the moment he was able.

Just what had happened between them?

  
  


In mutual silence, late the next day they rode directly to Ealdor, coming through the trees as sunset reached out and painted the clearing gold and the shadows long.

Hunith was bronzed in the dying light, dress the color of new wheat. She shaded her eyes and looked to the horses that walked slowly down the lane.

Arthur knew it was her.

Her back was strong and her pose always gently fierce, a bit of steeled resolve inside a package of joy and devotion and he knew when he came closer, he'd always see her thoughts written on her face, as transparently as her son's.

That thought caught in his throat and he choked.

Her head jerked over the riders, and then she felt to her knees, a snapped string.

Gwaine was off his horse in an instant. “Hunith Hunith, we came to look for him. We... we've just not found him yet.” He held onto her forearms with his gauntlets, gently against bare skin.

She didn't look at him, she looked up and had eyes only for Arthur.

“Arthur, where is he?” At his silence, she pleaded, "what happened to my son?"

“I don't know.. Hunith. I don't know. I'm trying…” again words caught in his throat. “I'm trying to figure it all out.”

Arthur knew he was supposed to say something hopeful. It's what Merlin would have done. He would have made assurances while Arthur rode away. But he couldn't. He didn't know, well anything anymore. He wondered if the Queen was right, that he was already lost to him, that he hadn't found him in time, and that even more hell awaited him and Camelot than his dreams the past few weeks.

He dismounted in his silence, the pawing of the hoof, the tamp and jingle of bridles as his knights followed suit.

And with a sound that could only be half a sob and wheeze as his breath left him in a rush, Hunith was holding him tightly, pinning his mailed arms to his armor, hands grasped behind him in his cloak.

“I'm so sorry Arthur. I'm so sorry. You'll get him back - I know you both. You both.. belong to each other. You will do whatever is needed to save my Merlin. And he'll go home with you and things will go back to the way they always were. It will all be right again.” She smiled fiercely, but it didn't light her eyes. “You'll save him.”

Arthur's world cracked and crumbled, as he stood in this little road in a tiny village not even in his own kingdom, while the mother of his rejected friend tried to give him hope.

Him hope. He who had taken everything her son was, and then sent him away the minute he understood.

Unworthy of his faith, indeed.

Heedless of his armor, he bent his head to her chest and began to sob, wrenching sounds, as the world went on, completely unaware of the ocean of guilt and despair belonging to one Arthur Pendragon.

Gwaine stood silent a space, and then motioned Leon to the back of the yard. He looked back to see Hunith leading Arthur into the house and set his mouth in a grim line.

Maybe she could talk some sense into him.

  
  


“What's wrong? Give it to me honestly” Hunith asked in a tight voice.

Arthur’s chest thumped. “You expect honesty of me? I expected it of Merlin, and look what I got.”

“Did…” the sharp inhaled breath sounded like a blade, "did you do something, did you do something to him Arthur?"

He pulled off his gauntlets to rattle on her table.

“No! I don't know what's happened to him. I don't know if it's all related. I thought he ran away, that's why I didn't come, when he didn't show up!”

He reached for her hands, “I promise, I promise Hunith, I did nothing to him. I thought he ran away.”

She pulled away in horror. “Why would my son run away from you? What did you do to him?”

“I didn't do anything, please. Please believe me. He didn’t run from me. I, I don’t think he did.” His face crumpled.

She sucked in a breath. “You know. Oh god, you know. What did you do?”

He looked up at her, wild eyed. “You. Of course he'd tell you.” He shook for a moment with the violence of his emotions. “I did nothing to him. Please, please, can you explain,” he faltered for words. “When? Why, did Merlin decide to practice magic?”

She tilted her head and quirked her lips and god, his heart ripped because for a moment it was Merlin. “That's a very long tale Arthur.”

“Just. Can you tell me the important bits of it?”

“Lives are messy, and they are all intertwined.Do one thing for me, Arthur, and I'll answer any questions you have.”

“Yes, anything.”

“Bring my boy back to me. I don't care how, I will get my son back. Promise to deliver my son to me without any punishment from you.”

“I will.” He stiffened his back. “I'll go to the ends of the earth to bring him back, I just wish I knew… what the hell was that idiot thinking?”

“Arthur Pendragon! Anything my son does is to keep you alive! Does that make him an idiot?”

“But I never asked him to do this.”

“No, you were just a fool with your eyes closed, and no matter what he told you, you just never listened.”

“Hunith, I need. I need to know why he used…”

“No! I do not care what you need. I don't care what you want. I'm tired of watching my boy give you everything only for you to just use and abuse him, until there is nothing left. He will not set foot in Camelot again.”

“Hunith, Gwaine knows, that's it. And he won't ever say anything. Merlin can come back, we'll just,” he faltered, “There will be no repercussions. I'll make sure he knows to stop. We'll make him understand.”

“Stop what, breathing Arthur? I'll run you through myself before you tell him that.”

The air was charged and Arthur remembered that this is not just a grieving mother, this was Merlin's mother, and she's not cared a wit about rank or respect, just as him, and he'll forgive her for threatening his life if she'll just stop looking at him like the murderer he could have been.

“You. You act like I'm a monster.”

“I think you're an arrogant petty King who thinks the world revolves around your selfish…” She turned around and groaned through gritted teeth. “Just like your father.”

The silence was thick, while neither spoke and each looked at each other with watery eyes and hands balled in anger.

She looked down at her hands. "And to think, here, I was actually worried about you. His friend, day in and day out," she choked and the first tears fall.

"My boy is lost. I don't know where he is. I don't know wether to believe you.

He reached a hand out. “The magic doesn’t matter. I’ll save him.”

Her eyes flashed. “You were all he had, Arthur. You were the only hope he had. The only thing holding him to this world.”

She went quiet and looked down to her fists, clenched in her skirts. "Is he out there lost, right now, knowing you hate him? That you think he is the monster? All he ever cared about was protecting you. You were one day to be the king that we needed, the one to stop all this suffering, this madness."

Arthur’s mouth hung open in shock. Did Merlin believe, is this why?

"Oh, oh... Did my little boy die, thinking you hated him? Was it bandits, or yet another death for you he took to his heart? Did he take his own life, now that his only hope was gone? Did you murder my baby?"

Arthur swallowed and shook his head.

"Get out of my house, Arthur Pendragon. Get out." She grabbed the crook of his arm, still mailed, and hauled him to the door, a shove to the street.

The door slammed and he stared at it, the feeling of hot stinging eyes and cold wet cheeks as foreign as the moon.

Arthur didn’t know where to go, but he could not bear to face his men with tears on his cheeks, and he could feel the pricks of eyes on him, as the village was small and selectively blind in the way of people who practically live in each other's laps.

He headed towards the forest, and walked into the quiet. He wondered if Merlin stepped on these paths, if he was following a path well worn by long legs. Or short ones? Merlin was small once.

What must Hunith have thought when Merlin told her of his intent to study magic. She didn't seem surprised.

He stopped his restless pacing. She wasn't surprised at all.

  
  


Gwaine sat in the firelight, the door to the barn open to the night, the small cooking fire a few paces out and away from the structure. He saw Arthur's back, walking into the woods, and made a noise in his throat.

Lean spoke softly. “Leave him some space. It's... not been easy on him.”

Gwaine poked the fire, his hands on a flat griddle with toast and cheese and a few shreds of dried venison. The sound of the door turned their heads. Hunith's hands were full as she came out.

“Well good knights, if you'll trade me a bit of your bread I'll add some variety to your packs.”

She brought apples, fresh and dried, a sprinkle of rosemary for the toasted cheese. A posey of hazelnuts and currants and cracked grain for each. “It's not much, but it will travel well.”

She smiled softly. “ I can recognize you Sir Leon from Merlin's letters, but I do not know your name, young man.”

“It's Gwaine, my lady.”

She laughed a moment, a true laugh that took over her posture. “I'm no lady Sir. And now I know who you are now. I should have known by those eyes. Yes, and I cannot tell you how wonderful it is to meet you after hearing so many stories. I'm just sorry it's not under happier times.” She dusted her hands on her skirts, “Well, we take what time we are given and make the most of it. We can't always wait to act until the happy times.”

Gwaine was silent and staring. “I'm sorry, Lady Hunith.”

She snorted. “Stop calling me lady. I live in a one room hut.”

Leon smiled softly. “Arthur gave Merlin a seat at the round table. I think that counts as noble as a knight. We'll have to get the paperwork done, but I think you're officially a lady now.”

Her eyes went dark and her expression flat, her voice cold. “Arthur, made Merlin, a noble.”

Gwaine looked at her. “You know.”

“Know what, Sir Gwaine?”

“Arthur told you. That's why he's,” he motioned to the woods. His voice went flat. “Gone for a walk.”

"I threw that overgrown boy out of my house and told him to not show his face until the day he brings my son home."

Gwaine held up his mug. “Cheers, Hunith. I figured as Merlin's mother you'd be on the list of people I was sure I was going to like, but that. You're a fucking treasure.”

“Let him sulk. And tomorrow we're going to ride out and get my son from whatever mess he's gotten into now. If there is a chance to get my boy back, I will find it.”

Leon nodded. “And we will be right beside you.”

Her face fell, and she drew within herself.

They eat warm bread and hot cheese in the silence, and toss in a few hazelnuts to the warm pan till they are fragrant and the skins whispers, papery things as they cool and are shared among the four.

After a bit, Leon broke the stillness. “We should save some for Arthur.”

Gwaine snorted.

Hunith sighed. “We should. I'll go get him, I know these woods.”

Gwaine stood and stretched. “Let's go get the sulking princess.”

“Stay here Gwaine. I'll go talk to him.” She rose and walked into the dark..

  
  


Arthur found himself beside the millpond, its banks mossy and dark and inviting. He wondered if he could just sleep out here in the dark.

Did Merlin ever fall asleep at the sound of the clacking wheel?

Ealdor probably only existed as a village because of this. The mill and its stone wheel, grinding the fields to make bread. If drought took the stream, if the stone cracked, all those lives would scatter. Some would die with it.

Arthur wondered if Merlin was the water or the stone. Was he the power in Camelot that kept things in motion, or was he the part that took Camelot and created something new? He didn’t know, only knew that he is not made for these thoughts, and he'd never felt more alone in all his life.

Breathing out a long sigh, he leaned against a tree trunk at the water’s edge, the moss soft under his slumped splayed out form. He took bits of acorns and tossed them into the water, watching the moonlight flicker on the ripples.

He heard her before he saw her, her steps sure as she walked past him, then stopped to look at the water as the most recent missile skipped across the surface.

“Arthur?”

“Hunith?” He trembled at how he sounded; his voice hoarse and wavering.

She stopped and looked speculative, and for a moment they waited like this, his hand half out to toss another shell, her staring down at him.

“Scootch.”

“What?”

“Scootch over, I'm sitting down with you. So you wanted me to explain a few things to you.”

“Yes, and then you threatened me and threw me out of your house.”

She laughed lightly. “Oh Arthur, I've threatened your kingship for years.... Would you, like me to explain?”

He can see Merlin in her now, so very clearly. She's loving and full of life, but so very worn down. She's playing with her words and seeing how he'd react.

He'd learned a lot about looking and listening in those last days with Merlin.

Suddenly Arthur has a thread of fear uncurl within him. Merlin may not have been the only one with magic. And he was out in the woods, in the dark with her; he'd already threatened her son and she'd threatened him.

But it was Hunith, who had held Gwen when he cast her out, who had stood with her pitchfork against warlords, who had faced his father, and this was Merlin's mother, how could he expect any less than complete irreverence?

Arthur pushed the anxiety out. “Is this one of those long tales?”

“This is one of those tales you will never believe. I'll tell it, but believing is up to you.”

“Would you tell all of us?”

“Will you tell them?”

“Would you like me to?”

She's turned still and quiet. “In a strange way they never mattered. Only you mattered. Now that you know, nothing really matters anymore.”

“Then yes, I think that they should know.”

She stood and offered her hand to Arthur, and again he's struck by the realization that is is her who is offering him aid.

  
  


The next day dawned bright, and Arthur paced. There was an edge to him, bright and sharp and jagged that spilled over into every action. “I can’t just wait.”

Leon watched the pacing. “We can’t just leave.”

Hunith’s sudden arrival had them both quiet. “And why not? We know he’s not here.”

“Where would you have us go, ma’am?” Leon asked softly.

“North. If Merlin took off the road, he’d have kept to areas he knew well. The northern forest is one he knew like the back of his hand. On the other side of the valley is Springwell, and if we find no sign of him on our journey there, we’ll at least have a place to resupply and get a different vantage point.”

Arthur’s mouth turned down. “Do you have any idea what might have happened?”

Hunith sighed and didn’t meet his eyes. “It could be almost anything Arthur. If they knew.”

Leon watched them both. “Knew what?”

Arthur’s hand chopped at the air. “We’ll discuss this later. Get the others and mount up.” He walked to Hunith and pulled at the pack on her back. “Let me.”

She stood back a pace, wary. A moment between them seemed charged, and then her shoulders rounded. “Yes, King Arthur.”

  
  


That evening, with the trees towering above them, Hunith unrolled her blankets and met Arthur and the others at their fire. “So, Arthur. I think you have a story to tell.”

Gwaine moved closer to Hunith, his gaze wary.

“I, I do.” Arthur stammered, after hours of silence in the saddle. He knew this moment was coming, and still he found himself at a loss at to what to say.

So he started at the beginning. “So a few months back, we were close to the valley of fallen kings, and I saw a stag. Leon and I split off from the rest to follow it, thinking we could wear it down. “

Leon nodded as he remembered, “we were out after visiting Weslen, setting up the new outrider's group.”

“Yes, and I had my head full of plans, and see this stag, and decide I'm just going to get out for a bit. The hunt was a disaster, I barely nicked him, and Merlin’s horse threw a shoe. I was frustrated and angry and went off on my own, leaving Leon and Merlin behind.”

“At one point I realized that I’d gotten lost. A strange kind of lost where you think at some point you walked over a doorway, but you can't just figure out when it was. And then there was this light.” His voice took on a tone of wonder. “This ball of light.”

“There was,” he made a wry grin, “a sorceress. Only she was dead. But I didn’t know that at first. There was just her and this ball of light. I talked to her. She claimed to have once been a queen. She was a sor... she used magic, but she was a queen of Camelot’s past. And she told me things that.. I really didn't want to hear. That Camelot was in danger, that darkness was coming. That all these years Camelot and I had a defender who had magic. That my,” he motioned with his hands, dismissively, “‘luck’ was really just me being blind to things around me. She told me she had a vision of Camelot. And that it could only be averted if I'd help her by finding this magical protector and helping him.”

Leon scoffed, and Arthur turned to speak to him directly. “See she was dead, sleeping, but the vision haunted her. And she couldn't see who Camelot's protector, who my guardian angel was. Said that he was too far into the shadows.”

Leon’s eyes were wide and Gwaine looked on, interested but wary. “And you believed her?”

“I always felt that there was someone who looked out for me. Made me lucky. My father always said it was the spirit of my mother looking down on me. I think my father just told me that to keep her as part of my life. He didn’t want to look into it.”

“But as we talked, and it well, it all came out. She said I’m the darkness. That I’m the reason Camelot will fall, because I’m holding back this protector from using his magic. That he’d been pushed so far into the shadows by me, she couldn’t even see him.”

He snorted at Leon’s expression. “So yes, a long dead queen of the marches sent me of all people to go find my secret magical guardian because I seem to be the greatest threat to Camelot it has ever faced.”

“I was pretty frustrated with her, but I realized she could see Camelot's future. And, well Merlin's had me pretty worried this past year. Something's wrong with him and he always says he's fine. But even I've noticed. I wanted her to show me what she could see. If anyone could see their way around this twisted puzzle, it would be him.”

“So I asked after him. I am not always blind to those around me.” He scowled, “Merlin's version of fine worries me.” He looked to Hunith. “So I asked her if she saw him in Camelot's future. It was just a small thing, I wanted to understand what she saw. So I described him and she told me she saw no one like him in any future of Camelot and that I should,” he choked, “make peace with his death.”

Gwaine crossed his arms and his eyes went dark. “You were warned, and you sent him away?” Leon turned looked askance.

“So after all that was over, I spent a lot of time thinking that I was going to lose him. And over all the things I wish I'd said, and done. So I paid a lot more attention to him. And I realized that I listened to him as much as I listened to all of you, so I, well you were there. I gave him my right hand at the table. I was going to keep him right by my side, I was going to keep him safe.”

“And,” he blew out a breath and stopped for several long moments, “remember what I said?” He leaned back on his hands. “Oh Merlin, isn't it time you stopped hiding in the shadows?”

“So I'm all full on my big announcement, and just, it was like someone had just ripped my heart out of me. Merlin is the one she was couldn't see. I’m the shadow Merlin hides in. I'm the darkness, the shadow in Merlin's life.”

Gwaine swore. “Merlin's..., some ghost? So that's what had you so bloody moody?”

Leon shook his head. “And Merlin of all people, having magic? That's just…”

“God, yes. But think about it. Think back over all those years all those lucky moments.” He stared at his lap. “Merlin has been using magic. The man I thought couldn't tell a lie to save his life, has been lying all these years.”

Hunith cut in dryly. “Actually Merlin's been lying since the moment he learned to talk.”

Gwaine looked at her with a furrowed brow. “Merlin is a terrible liar.”

“No, he's not. When lies are all that save your life, you get very good at them. He may not tell lies very well, but he lives a lie very well. My son is such an idiot, right Arthur?”

One by one, they stared at Hunith and then to Arthur.

Leon broke the silence. “No one thinks he's an idiot. It's, well he's not.”

“It's an act isn't it? It's always been an act? One big lie after another, right Hunith?” Arthur was not amused.

“Hrm? Oh yes, for you, he's a complete idiot. Lies about everything. Go ahead Arthur,” she looked positively frigid. “This is the part where you tell Leon that Merlin was so stupid, but so loyal, so worried about you, he learned this horrid dark art to save you and all the people of Camelot, and now you've got to go find him and have him prevent whatever nasty du jour is coming, and once that's dealt with, swiftly disabuse him of this notion of magic, tell him to put it all away and you'll take care of everything, right? You'll just forget this pesky business.”

“You’d forgotten everything he’s risked for you.”

“And every day, Merlin will walk through the courtyard and keep his head low and eyes away from that bloody pole, and hope you never think a whit more of him than he is some stupid peasant to wash your socks.”

“You need him. Just like, just like Uther used Gaius. You’ll convince yourself, he’s too much of an idiot to be a traitor, right? Just a silly boy who read the wrong book. You'll make sure he has no time for books, just your stocks and,” just spat the word,“socks.”

“And you, well, the shining prince with his sword and steed, will run on in and save my son from this dark dirty thing he does, because he just doesn't know better, right?”

“What can I say, I taught my son to live a lie very well.”

Leon stood up, horrified. “Hunith, why, why would you ever do that?”

“What other choice did the world give me?”

The fire popped, and the sound of the leaves swishing above filled the silence. One moment stretched to many and a hush grew over the group.

Hesitantly, Hunith ran her hands through her hair. “I'm not sure where to begin.” She fell silent again.

  
  


Leon broke the silence in a quiet voice, “So, do you think this dead Queen spoke true? That Camelot needs Merlin to learn powerful magic to prevent its fall?”

She looked to each knight in turn. “I know that without Merlin, Camelot would have fallen long ago. To say that Merlin uses magic to protect Camelot is a very, well wrong way of looking at it. And Arthur, he is quite powerful in his own right.”

“That is not to say he doesn't have much to learn.”

“For you see, Merlin did not learn magic for you Arthur. And with Merlin it's very, very hard to know the difference between Merlin himself and Merlin's magic.”

Arthur barely breathed out the words. “So Merlin used magic, here, and chose to come to Camelot? You've been teaching him this whole time?”

“No Arthur. I don't know a lick of magic. And yes, I sent him there. I didn't give him a choice.”

He was horrified. “You sent him to his death!”

She closed her eyes. “If I continue talking I put people I love in danger, and not just Merlin. Do you swear. On Gwen's life, on your life, on everything you hold dear, you will not seek to hurt anyone due to what you learn this night?”

“I swear. I do swear.”

She stood up and began to pace around the fire. “I was twelve when I first came to Camelot. I was a child of my father's second wife, an unlooked for, but loved boon. I had very fine tutors and a hunting hound that followed me everywhere like a nursemaid but twice as smart as you'd believe.”

“Camelot was a new place, and uncertain place, but I loved it there. God, I still remember every day being one big event after another. Each feast was for the first time, the rituals and stories all brand new. And so many new people.”

“I took a job first as a page for,” she hesitated, then pushed on, “my brother. And later, my own place as Geoffrey's assistant. I wrote excellent Latin, passable Greek, and good French. I served as a translator for Queen Igraine a time or two.”

Arthur gaped. “You were from Camelot? You knew my mother?”

“No, I was from York, but with my father old and failing, he wanted to me to continue my education under the eye of my older brother, the child from his first marriage.”

“So yes, I was there, I knew Igraine, and that is where I met Merlin's father.”

He went thoughtful, and stilled his hands from where they tore at the grass.

"Merlin's not some,” he swallowed, “unwanted by blow left behind is he?" his voice was soft as the fire popped.

"Oh gods above no. No I loved Merlin's father. And if he had known about Merlin, I think he'd have moved mountains to stay. But..." she looked into the fire, seeking something she could not find. She look up and her shoulders twitched, then rounded. "He couldn't."

Arthur kept his silence, willing his tongue to still, his hands to stop fidgeting.

"And when Merlin was born, I knew true fear. I knew Merlin must never know of his father." She huffed a broken laugh. "'Course that's not how it all worked out in the end."

Gwaine spoke up. "He met him, didn't he. Merlin said he died suddenly."

"Yes," her eyes welled with tears, and her head dipped into the shadows. "It was a sudden death."

Arthur cursed inwardly. How often would he hear how little Merlin trusted him. "He... told me he never met his father." He shook his head.

"Arthur," her voice was filled with an emotion he couldn't easily place. "He didn't know for the longest time. I know you both talked, but when he found out, I doubt it was something he would have come to you with."

"Merlin, he didn't, trust me at all, did he?" he sighed and looked up into the sky.

The silence stretched.

"Still. After Kanen, Hunith you should have told me. We'd have gone and gotten his father and things would have been," he tossed the grass strands his idle hands had worn thin into the fire, "they would have been okay. I know what it's like to grow up without a parent. I would have made it right for him."

A mirthless laugh rolled out of her. "Oh, oh Arthur."

She giggled darkly. "I can only bloody imagine if you had gone and brought him back after Kanen." She closed her eyes and just laughed for a moment, lost in thought.

Her eyes were dark and glittering. "I think... I think I'd like to continue this story another night. I can't help but let my mind race over that" her voice broke and a hand moved to her lips. With shuddering shoulders, she started to choke behind her fingers.

"How different life… Oh gods, how that might have changed everything, if he could have trusted you then."

The men try to drown out the sounds of her sobs, and Arthur knows even if he could have found the courage to cross the space and hold her, his touch would have given no comfort.

  
  


The town appeared much sooner than he expected, the chance of finding them in the forest now one more item crossed from the list.

Springwell didn’t have much to offer, a bundle of buildings behind a low wall. A blacksmith and an inn for travelers passing through. Farther up the hill a monastery and a brewery, circled around the well that gave the town its name.  
They wandered aimlessly half the day in the forest, knowing that going back was giving up. Tension between them flew as the hours wore on. A search for a perhaps not so fatherless son, a servant sorcerer; a missing knight.

One man by the blacksmith’s finally responds with something of value.

“Haven’t seen your people, but I do know that the road’s had a lot of action these days. A group came south from Orkney, looking for able bodied men to help clear roads.“ He chewed on something around the words.

Leon responded. “They would not have joined that.”

He spat out the leaf. “Hear tell, they might not have had a choice.”

Arthur muddled over the idea of them chained to a work gang and shuddered. Merlin would not have lasted long. “Do we follow this lead, or?”

Gwaine responded bitterly, “Or what? Give up? Go back? Hope one of these days someone finds their bones?”

Hunith blanched.

“Gwaine,” he rummaged in his saddle bag. “Use this, buy drinks, loosen tongues. Find out what happens” he sighed and lowered his voice, “what happens to sorcerers around here.”

“You think that’s why he’s gone?”

Arthur looked as if he was about to hold his head in his hands, then stopped halfway through the gesture. “My heart tells me there is more to this than just simple banditry. They are both too strong, too clever by half.”

Leon breathed out, “You suspect Morgana?”

“I don’t know. I don’t know what to think. He turned to Gwaine. Find me something, please. His voice was rough. Please.”

  
  


Gwaine threw the remaining gold to the table.

He went over the town’s rumors, the inn’s common room small and crowded with their party, sitting in the corner of the main room of the inn, voices kept low, and non-descript cloaks pulled tight.

“So we’ve northerners pressing for work gangs, a town rivalry for beaver pelts, monks claiming druids have cursed their grain, and a tinkerer they think waltzed off a little girl.”

Leon shook his head, “that’s nothing to go on.”

“Not a peep. But when I asked,” he took a deep breath, “about people who were different. They brought up the little kids. Seems its not the first time this tinkerer has been through here.”

Arthur made a noise, “Merlin and Percival were not children.”

Gwaine’s eyes went hard. “Yeah they weren’t. But the people who spoke up. Half said those kids were taken, the other half? Well,” he spread his hands, “that they found useful employ.”

Leon sighed, soft and low, “no matter what path we take, these are no real answers.”

Arthur nodded, “I just…” he leaned down and rested his forehead on the tankard, “I just want some answers.”

Hunith sighed, low and slow, as if letting go of years of tension. "Answers, Arthur? Let me. I've been thinking most of today how to start this. There is much more to Merlin’s tale."

“So yes, I worked in the library, and translated for the nobles, and met Merlin's father though he never looked at me twice back then, and helped my brother and was quite happy. Many years later you were born and the world... went dark.”

“What happened? Can you really tell me?”

Her hands gripped tighter. “I thought you knew.”

“I've been told many things, and many lies, and... I don't think you'd lie to me.”

“Let me finish my story, and you can then decide if you trust me enough to answer that question.”

There were moments of silence, while the world chittered and the horses walked outside, and the men sat patient around the table.

“My brother loved a woman who wielded strong healing magic. Was set to marry her in the spring after your birth.”

“And not long into the purging of Camelot, her name came up on Uther's list of people to die, and something completely and utterly broke him from the warm person I used to know to the bitter shell he has been all these years.”

“Merlin has magic from your brother’s wife? but that doesn’t…”

She glared.

“He got her out of the city. But he stayed. He would stand by and watch his kind burn if he had a chance to sway Uther's madness.”

“And he sent me away.”

“Because you have magic.”

“No. He did.”

“But he stayed? Your brother the sorcerer chose to stay in camelot?”

“Yes, Arthur, he stayed.”

“I had a fine horse and the night I was leave, he smuggled a small little girl under my cloak as I walked with my head high and my heart in panic out of the city.”

“She was about six, pale blonde curls, still covered in her mother's blood as she'd stood up to Uther to protect her.” She shuddered. “I ran from Camelot, to the border here, planning on making it north the islands. And when my horse went lame, I was able to convince the druids to take in the child, and I walked to the closest village and stayed there. I wrote my brother of my location, and prepared myself to wait for his next instructions, to take in the next child or man who found their way under Uther's horrifying gaze.”

“Uther decided killing anyone with magic, regardless of how or if they wielded it, wasn't enough. So he expanded his noose. It was not one faction versus another, it was wholesale slaughter. Starting with the women and children. He burned the women, drowned the children.”

She stopped her pacing. And Arthur went pale. “I could never drink out of a well after that.”

“I am sorry for the death of your father Arthur, but during that time, he was just ignorance and hate. If he knew any love or mercy in his later years it was your doing. ... I... I actually understand Morgana's hatred a bit. No, more than a bit.”

“So it was inevitable. That winter a man found my door, shivering in the cold. He'd spent months in Uther's dungeon. He wielded little magic, but he considered Uther a friend. He'd... he'd done a lot for Uther, for Camelot. For so many other kingdoms.”

“And while he didn't have have strong magic, the people looked to him, and Uther couldn't... he couldn't control him, so he…” she reached up and scrabbled at her eyes.

“Uther tortured him. When he came to me, he had a letter from my brother, and it was snowing, and oh god, he had no shoes, he walked from Camelot to my house in the dead of winter, with only a letter and a name to guide him. I remember him, and his broken hands. The blackened toes I had to cut off.”

“I didn't live here. I lived in a shelter some miles away. I stayed out of the village. I used what coin I had. But when he came along, I realized I had to have a roof, to take care of him. Uther had broken him.”

“So I bartered for space in the very barn you slept in in Ealdor, and the old widow took pity on us and we'd slept at her fireplace for most nights of that first winter.”

Arthur could tell this story would not have a happy ending. “Tell me about him.” His question was strangled and pained.

“He was beautiful. Wise, and beautiful. Merlin has his eyes, his hair, my hands, my mouth. God, he has his eyes. So very, so very blue. Uther had broken his hands, and some of the bones knit together awkwardly. He'd never.. play or write again without…”

“You loved him.”

“Oh Arthur, I loved him fiercely. Devotedly. He showed up lost in the snow, and I took him into my heart and made him mine. There was nothing in this world I would have not done for him. We walked these woods and found peace and joy. He would sing to me, and brush my hair. Even in this time of darkness, I had hope.”

“Until Merlin was born.” Gwaine cut in.

She steepled her hands and blew out through them. “Have you ever held a newborn Arthur?”

“I've seen.. small children. But no, they don't usually ask Kings to do that.”

“Children are magic, Arthur. It's born of blood, but oh so very much magic. When Merlin was born I still had hope. I had so so so very many... plans, oh god the plans I made when he laid curled up inside me.”

She looked down at her hands and they looked on, moments lengthening, and she became lost in thought.

Arthur respected her lack of names but... he made a frustrated noise.

“Why did Merlin's birth change everything? Why did he make you lose hope?” His voice came out annoyed, and he cringed, hoping it didn't silence her.

“I skipped ahead a bit. It's hard to tell the story right when you've mashed it so far inside you try to forget it ever happened.”

“Do you regret it?”

“Ah, it's been so hard. But I do not regret Merlin. It's just hard to unravel the good parts from the bad.”

Leon interjected, “what happened to him? What about your plans? What went wrong with Merlin?”

“In the spring, Uther decided to go looking for Merlin's father. It wasn't too hard to follow the stories. He'd been half a skeleton, walking a public road.”

“He was searching villages. He didn't care about the magic, or if this was in Cenred's territory. He just wanted him dead.”

“He... he risked war to kill Merlin's father?”

“Yes.” She seethed out the word.

“Word got out, he knew he had to leave. In the middle of spring, he left me in the darkness. He put flowers in my hair and kissed my eyes as I sobbed on the edge of this very wood. He never even knew about Merlin. I think.. I think Merlin was created that night. I never really did count the days.”

“We hoped... in the fall we'd take a boat to Normandy, get the hell out of this place. We would work with my brother, save …” the tears welled again and she fell silent until she found control.

“I did skip too much.”

“Merlin's father.... had a brother. And he was still in Camelot's dungeon's the whole winter he was with me.”

“I think Uther might not have wanted him dead, but instead to keep both the brothers imprisoned. I don't know, the first round of torture killed so much of him, it might not have really mattered if he was drug back for the pyre or imprisonment, because if Uther found him, he was dead.”

“So I stayed here and waited. And it wasn't long before I realized I was with child.”

“Of course the neighbors talked.”

“And I just ignored all of them and helped the old widow. I had a plan.”

“I had a plan. And it was a very damn good plan. Bastard or no bastard, this child was mine and I was going to see him raised tall.”

She looked up with a sudden fierce grin, reminding him once again of Merlin.

“So when I found you by the mill pond in Ealdor, what did I tell you? I've threatened your sovereignty for years? I was without a doubt, Uther's worst possible enemy.”

“You really do owe me and Merlin your crown.”

“So if you want to know why the Queen could not see Merlin in her visions, it's because Merlin is a direct descendant.”

Arthur went blank. “Gaius said.”

She nodded. “Ah, so you know about that bit. He's as much right to royal blood as you have, Arthur. If I sit down and figure it out, I'll remember exactly which cousin he is to you.”

He gasped and his stomach tightened to a knot. For a man with so little family to think of adding another branch. A connection he’d used and abused and drove out of his life. Just like Morgana he cried inside.

“So…” she cocked her head. “Who's my brother and who's Merlin's father.”

“Oh bloody hell.” Gwaine looked at Arthur. “It's Gaius. That's your brother. You sent him to your brother. You sent him to learn magic from Gaius.”

“Very good. You're actually paying attention.”

Leon gasped, “But I can't believe... Why would he take him in as his ward, when he's family?”

She cocked her head. “Uther knew Gaius had magic. Any relation would be instantly suspicious.”

“Uther... he used Gauis' magic, didn't he? He burnt the others, but…” he barked a laugh. “The older I get the more I realize what a hypocritical bastard he was.”

She shrugged. “So name Merlin's father and his ...brother.”

“Royal blood? I ... honestly don't know. I'm sorry Hunith genealogy isn't my strong point.”

“Ah well, we'll go on. Here's another one for you.”

“The little girl I rode out of Camelot with? She was to go to old friend's of her father’s. But when I was thrown and my horse lame, I couldn't take her. So I entrusted her to two druids who would see she was reunited with her family. This petrified little girl with golden curls in a little green velvet cloak, the only thing she had of home, and it was soaked in her mother’s blood.”

“They never took her there. They made her the apprentice of a old vengeful woman.”

“And that was the last time I saw your cousin Morgause. The little girl Igraine doted upon, running from the rage of your father in the cloak the Queen had given her for her sixth birthday. Coated in the blood of her mother, your father’s mistress, Morgana’s mother.”

Gwaine choked. “Wait wait, that bitch?”

“Yes, that bitch was once a child condemned to death, coated in the blood of her mother who'd given her life to save her from Uther. And that's how he took Morgana, as his ward, but truthfully his daughter. Can you imagine little Morgana with her black curls in a green velvet cloak, splattered in her mother’s blood, as she ran under my care? I can. I have.”

“Funny how the smallest things have the largest impact.”

“Merlin doesn't know that part. I only put all the pieces together last winter. So back to people who wanted your father dead, Arthur.”

“You are very angry with me for being an unknowing newborn during all of this.”

“Eh, I'm hoping to find you’re a little older and wiser now.’

“So, my brother is a powerful healer with direct access and the trust of the king, my lover is a lord and commander of armies, his brother is a warrior and scholar without equal, I'm now expecting a newborn of royal blood, and I'm watching Uther splatter innocent children across the land like it was paint.”

“What do you think I did those long months while I waited for my child to show himself?”

“You planned to take back Camelot from Uther.”

“Mmmhmm. I knew the city. I had allies in all the right places. I just needed to give them hope.”

‘So to my growing child, I read books of strategy, of war. I told him of the great emperors, and the clan chieftains, I didn't sing him nursery rhymes as he lay beneath my breast, I told him of the wrongs I would someday right for him, of taking him to his father, and watching as my son's first steps rekindled the fire in his eyes.”

“I told him of his father, and how he would return to Camelot and tear Uther down into the darkness where he'd left him. About how he'd find strength and freedom and right the wrongs. About freeing his brother and anyone left in the dungeons into the light. My brother would heal his hands so he could play again.”

“I didn't…” she faltered. “I never hurt you in those stories. You were Igraine's much loved miracle. I'd tell you of her attempts to learn french, of running in the garden without shoes while her handmaids looked on in horror and she shook with glee.”

“In my stories, I was going to make you his golden haired knight, a big brother to look kindly on. You would have golden curls like Morgause and grow up with my son, side by side. Morgana and Morgause would want for nothing. I would take all you motherless children under my wing.”

“Gaius loved you, you know, and I learned to love you through his letters.”

“My son was going to follow behind while his father righted the world from Uther's lashed out rage and pain.”

“I was going to go home and save my brother from a life of watching his friends die, just so he might save a few by being close. I was going to stop everyone from calling him a traitor, when he was just doing what he could to save the very few he could.”

“I was going to sit at my husband's feet and listen to his brother's stories, and I was going to introduce my son to him, and we were going to stop all this death.”

Arthur could see it. Merlin would have been a good friend, and possibly a good prince. He coughed. He would have made a wonderful first knight.

And, he gasped aloud. And Morgana would never have known the hate and the pain. “You would have freed us.”

“Yes, Arthur. I would have freed you. One person's death, and all this suffering would have ended.”

“What happened? Was he... sickly? What happened?”

She shrugged and motioned with her hands. “Oh that plan was a very good one and it lasted all the way up until about a week after little Merlin, my little falcon was born.”

“What happened?” Gwaine asked again.

“Oh, his eyes opened.”

Arthur caught Leon's gaze. “Um... that's different?”

“When they're gold, mm, yes.”

“Wait, what?”

“Merlin's eyes weren't blue for almost a week.At that point every plan was out the window, I was just focused on figuring out how to survive with my dark haired days old newborn and his gilded eyes.”

Arthur made a noise, and she shook her head. “I couldn't exactly write to Gaius. And I couldn't travel with him.”

“God, is that ... does that happen?”

“I have no idea Gwaine, I couldn't exactly ask!”

“So Merlin's clearly not normal. He's pulling toys to his cradle within days. I could actually entertain him by tossing feathers at him, and he'd play for hours, never touching them.”

“He what... that's impossible.”

“Merlin never learned magic Arthur. Merlin IS magic. Merlin just wants something and it happens. You may have been oblivious to him, but, it's hard to tell when Merlin is actually doing magic unless it's something complex.”

“Trust me, I'm very aware of Merlin and it was hard even for me to figure out where the line was.”

“If you hate magic Arthur, then you hate Merlin.” She went quiet. “Can you imagine the mix of fear, hope, and despair your very existence brings me? My son? You are his death and all he desires in one person. Is it any wonder you’ve danced around each other in the dark?”

After that, conversation seemed useless, and one by one, they found beds upstairs, Gwaine preferring to sleep in the stables and keep an eye on their horses.

  
  


The next day dawned bright, and found them arguing over the smallest of things. It culminated in Hunith snapping at Arthur in a mixture of pain and exhaustion.

“No he is not coming back with you. I don't know yet if he is coming back at all.”

“How could you be so cruel?”

“How could you be this blind? Let me tell you something,” she spat. “I've lived my life since Merlin's arrival knowing that hearing of his death is the nice version,” she hissed.

“How could you say that?”

“Death is a kindness when the world you're born in names you a monster, or worse, thinks of you as nothing but a weapon.”

“Merlin is no monster.”

She rounded on him, eyes gleaming. “And did you ever tell him that? Or did you just rant and rage about the latest sorcerous scum. All magic is evil, all magic is vile. How many times did you tell my son you despised him? How many ways did you describe his coming death? How many times did you use my son as a weapon? When was the first time Merlin killed for you?”

“I didn't know…”

“No, you just didn't care to know. I was never afraid of his death in Camelot. I was afraid of,” she knuckled her fist to her mouth. “Of someone finding him useful. Death is scary, but quick. Even the pyre, as horrifying as it is, ends.”

“But to imagine my son, who cries over butterflies that die in the fall, forced to slay man after man at the hand of a warlord, caged and trapped for years? The fate he would have one day found in Essetir?”

“I'd send him to the pyre myself.”

The rest of the day was filled with chilled silence. None of them knew which path to take, which words to say to fill the chasm Merlin’s absence left.

  
  


They leave the town in the afternoon, all pretext of hope abandoned. Arthur could not imagine spending another night in the cramped inn, directionless, and his men seemed adrift at having left their knight’s gear in the woods.

They returned to the camp of the previous night, huddled around the fire in a sense of loss.

Arthur is slow to break the silence. “Merlin is not a child. But there is something to what Gwaine said. I can’t just let this be.”

Gwaine nods, “so we follow the rumors that this kidnapper went back to Camelot?”

“I,” he grappled for words, “Something in my heart tells me that I’m riding in the right direction.”

Leon propped himself up on his elbow, “so Gwaine said that this tinker went to the border, do you think he’d have taken the path through the hills, or down south through the Willows?”

Hunith broke in, “south, it’s hard enough to travel with children, he’ll have wanted the chance to stop along the road.”

Arthur nodded, “then we know our destination tomorrow. Two days of hard riding should return us to Camelot’s lands.”

Gwaine leaned back and closed his eyes, Leon twirled a stick idly, and Hunith huddled in her shawl as the breeze picked up and a light misting rain began to fall.

Arthur stirred up the fire, and it popped and sizzled a bit as the mist spread, but it was hot enough to suffer the moisture. He stood and made his way to Hunith, spreading his cloak around her shoulders, pulling the hood up over her hair.

“Can’t have you cold.”

She looked up at him wearily, and he could feel the pain radiate from her, chin tucked tight to her chest. “Thank you, King Arthur.”

His voice cracked, “don’t thank me.”

Leon met his eyes, and he tossed his branch away and sat up. “I can't remember you Hunith. I would think I would have, at least as a child.”

She smiled, bittersweet, but wasn’t roused to conversation.

Leon waited a few moments before he tried again. “Who was Merlin’s father, Hunith?”

She relented with a sigh. “You'd... well you’d remember him. Up on the battlements in the spring, looking over Camelot. He used to argue with Uther, and disappear for months. But he was always in Camelot in the spring.”

Leon shook his head.

“It's okay,” she reached up and pulled the red cloak closer to her, “I think Arthur is the one who has to figure this one out. He was,” she cracked on the word, and it took her a moment to recover, “was after all, the man who buried him.”

Arthur gasped, and his soul hurt from all these shocks of guilt and rage and years of pain, all in his name before he could walk. The dragon lord, his tears and the healing and the hurt. “Balinor. Merlin is Balinor's son.”

Her eyes were haunted, and he could only imagine things she was remembering. “There you go. Merlin is the living descendant of Britain’s former dynasty, and the last gasp of a dead race. And at any point at all, I could have found Balinor, and once close enough to Camelot, Gaius would have released the great dragon. I could have Uther bow his head without a single death.”

She choked off her voice and began again in a different tack, “you were four years old when Uther left you with Gaius, and without a backwards glance, took his men to Ealdor to murder me and Merlin and Balinor.”

“But he left to keep me safe, and neither of them knew of the other until Gaius told him when you went to search for him.”

Arthur shook with bitter melancholic rage, “but he wouldn't help us, and then when I woke up... wait.. He.. Balinor healed me with magic, didn’t he?” The rage left leaving just the pain, “and of course he'd help his son against the dragon. So Merlin, his magic is tied to the dragons?”

“No, dragons are creatures of magic, but Merlin's magic has nothing to do with it.”

“But, oh god. I was so cruel to him. I told him no man was worth his tears. I told him his father wasn't worth his concern, that he was weak for... No wonder he doesn't tell me anything.” He pushed his hand through his hair. “I wouldn't trust me either.”

“And I wonder if I should trust you, Arthur. The man who saw my love's death and called him worthless. The man who balked at burying the father of his friend. The man who drug my son off to die who met, and buried his own father in the space of two sunsets.”

Silence reigned.

“He, his magic dealt with the dragon, didn't it? It wasn't me.” It was a soft offering meant to soothe.

“No. His magic was useless against it. Merlin was petrified everyone was going to die for his mistake.”

Gwaine, tilted his head, “his mistake?”

“Merlin was less prepared to meet the dragon than you ever were to be king. He’d saved all of camelot from the sleeping sickness, from plague, from Morgana, only to watch it burn. He’d near threw himself from the parapets.”

She kept her gaze on Arthur. “Remember the unicorn, Arthur? Merlin had the dragon. The dragon that had saved your life time and time again, in exchange for his freedom.”

“If I had known, I would have come. I'm probably the one person in the world who could answer some of his questions. But he didn't know. Gaius told him before you left, and part of me wishes he hadn't.”

“But the power of a dragon lord is in the blood. The dragon will only heed the eldest.”

“When Balinor was killed, Merlin's voice was now the eldest. Only he had no bloody idea what to do.”

“So when you dragged my son along, defenseless, in mourning for his father, against the dragon, he honest to god had no idea what to do. He just loved you too much to let you face this mistake of his alone. And when the dragon lashed out in its madness against him, and you fell, Merlin did what he always does and he panicked and what the hell does Merlin do?”

“He talked to it. The dragon who had saved your life time and time again had gone mad.”

Arthur’s eyes were bright, and his mouth in a thin white line. He kept his silence as she spilled secret after secret, bright skeins of fire and blood drug from shadow into light.

“But as a dragon lord, his speech was as kin, as a brother. He told the dragon, who had befriended him, who had been telling him for years his destiny was to defend you, who when released went howling mad with rage to the point of losing speech, well he told him to leave camelot and never return, else he'd kill him.”

“Merlin has a kind heart, but he is not weak Arthur. My son has killed so you might live.”

“And sent away, the great dragon, who I knew as Balinor's kin, his brother, Kilgharrah, well, his mind returned and he sought forgiveness from Merlin. He'd been chained in the darkness for all the days of your life, Arthur. Dragons are a product of the minds and magic around them - can you imagine how mad he was after that long in Uther’s hell of Camelot?”

“I do not know if he granted it. But I do know he's helped save Camelot a number of times since those dreadful days. I do know that Kilgharrah was in the skies when you fled from Morgana and Helios, and that while an army chased after you, none was ever found.”

“I still can't... The dragon? All this time? And... him... I can't believe the bitter old man in the cave was Merlin's father. And Merlin just... scolded that thing and it went away? And it saved my life?”

“Balinor spoke six languages, and commanded the trust of as many kings. He was loved, respected, and his friend turned on him, his brother was caged in the dark, and he was sent from all human contact. He watched friend and love and child be slaughtered at your father’s decree, but yet he still believed enough in peace to appear when he was asked.”

She whispered, “Merlin and his father share a peaceful heart. Look at Balinor, and look at the great dragon. Without love, friendship, to balance either one, they were far lost to sanity.”

“And Arthur. What do you think Merlin would be if you banished him, Arthur? How well would he fair long winters in the dark in a hovel with no voices, no light, no hope. What would you find Arthur when you sought him out? What did you,” her voice cracked, “find when you sought out the man I loved?”

“My beloved played the lute for his cousin, Igraine when he came in the spring. He sang her old songs, and you could hear them in the courtyard, sometimes singing together. He sang to you Arthur.” She began to weep silently in the misty rain. “He sang to you, and never to Merlin, never even knowing of Merlin.”

“He sang to you.” She shuddered and gripped the cloak till her knuckles turned white. “Merlin never heard his father sing. You never heard your mother sing.” Her voice gave out, hoarse and low. “I wanted to make things right for you, but I had to protect my son.”

Arthur found he could not sleep, and spent the night staring up at the clouds, wondering if his entire life had been like that - blanketed with layer upon layer of lies until he didn’t know the truth from the stars.

  
  


Arthur woke feeling bruised and broken, the very blood in his veins sore and sluggish. His head hung low as they rode in the grey morning light. Gwaine tried to lighten the air with his usual banter, but even his fearless cheer fell low in the absence of the usual chatter from Merlin.

“I miss him,” was all that was said after the last story fell to a stuttering halt.

“Me to,” Arthur admits. And something of that admittance eased the ache in his heart.

Hunith reached out and laid a hand softly on his knee. “We’ll find him.”

He huffed a laugh, “how do you do it? No matter how much the world is set against you, you just.” His words failed him and he trailed off, “have hope.”

She smiled and patted his knee. “I believe until I know otherwise. Else this world would have eaten me and my son alive years ago.Now, you’ve been telling me that you think this is the right path. Doesn’t that tell you something? I think you have more faith than you show, Arthur.”

“I’m chasing after children, and all I feel is regret that I’ve not found him.” He sighed. “Or Percival. I shouldn’t dismiss him, it’s just…”

“You don’t feel you’ve wronged Percival. I understand, you feel guilty.”

He nodded his head. “I feel, I did a great wrong that I may never get to right.”

Arthur let that thought claw its way into his heart, and an hour turned into three as the morning mist burnt off to noon.

“You're actually frightening, Hunith.” Arthur broke the silence.

“What did I do?”

“You raised your son to lie. To pretend to be someone else.” Arthur said softly.

“Does,” she took a deep breath, “does that frighten you Arthur? To raise a child afraid of the world? Or are you just afraid to be the thing my son was afraid of all his life?”

She stopped. “Let's take a moment for the horses, I'll show you something frightening.” She dismounted and let the reins drop while the horse ambled. She walked into the forest and returned with a stick. Leon reached up to grab the water skins and sleeves and departed to the east.

“So you said you weren't all that versed in genealogy. Well, thankfully I am. So let me show you something actually frightening.”

“Ambrose, King of Tintagel.” A crown and a name sketched into the dirt. “His sons Magnus, Aurelius.”

“Constantine, King of Camelot.” a second crown, further apart. “His two children. Uther, his brother, Constans.” A crown around Uther.

“Magnus’s daughter. Ygraine, his son Agravaine. Then Tristan. Tristan’s daughter, then you,” a fourth crown was sketched under his mother.

“Aurelius’s children, Balinor. Sera.” She took her time sketching the names.

“And here the DuBois.” She took a few steps away, “Vivienne. Gorlois, their daughter Morgause. Morgana.” She silently drew a line to Uther.

“Ambrose’s great grandson, Merlin.” She tapped over Merlin, and then Arthur’s names. “His other great grandchild.” She sadly stared at Tristan, and his daughter.

She sighed softly and began to make circles around most of the names. “Tristan’s daughter, I can’t remember her name. She was one of the first children caught in the purge.”

In the end there were four crowns and only few without circles. “So in your blood lineage you, Igraine, Tristan, Uther and Agravaine would be the only ones on this entire little family map without magic.”

She began to draw second circles, around Merlin, Morgana, Morgause. She paused over Balinor. “And those, those are with power to rival Nimueh, the high priestess who was rumored to give you life.”

And she paused and added a third circle to Morgana. “A high priestess of legend.”

And a third circle around Merlin. “And an unknown, but perhaps no less powerful.”

So she draws an arrow from Arthur. “So your child. Has three, four incredibly powerful high aspects of the old religion, and on every side of the the entire family tree only four people lack magic. Four people out of almost two dozen.”

Her voice dropped to a whisper. “Imagine the day your child's eyes open and they are gold. Now, that, Arthur. That's frightening. How will you hide your newborn, Arthur, from the world that your father created - the one that would burn him for breathing?”

"You have no right" she choked, eyes gleaming, "no right to judge me." Her hands shook and he waited for her to throw the stick at him, to hit him with the force her words did, but instead she just turned her head away and tossed it into the underbrush.

Arthur’s heart felt bruised just the same.

  
  
[View Full Size](http://dylogger.deviantart.com/art/Family-Tree-560744437)

  
  


That night he dreamed.

Uther’s voice tolled from above, as Arthur looked on, a spectator in the middle of the crowd.

The screaming began when the flames began to lick the boys leggings, smoldering his boots. Arthur looked on in horror, close enough to smell the stench of urine and the sickly sweet tang of burnt hair, straw and resin.

From beside Arthur a familiar voice rang out, sure and strong. “I’m here, I’m here.” And he was bumped out of his way as Merlin’s sure stride wove through the crowd, “I’m coming my little prince, I’m coming."

With a growing horror, Arthur looked up, knowing his son, and realizing the nightmares were not done with him yet. He shook himself, tensed, and willed himself to wake. When nothing seemed to work he cast his eyes back to the scene.

Merlin reached up into the flames, the flaxen tunic instantly smoldering. The guards moved against him, but Uther’s bark caught them mid-stride.

“Stop! the man is clearly enchanted. Let him die. End this blight on my house.”

Arthur started at the sound of his own voice drifting from above. “Merlin, what are you doing? You idiot! He’s…"

Merlin looked up and screamed, voice broken and pained, “He’s your son, Arthur!"

“No son of mine has magic.” It was cold, unflinching, a very likeness of his father.

The screams became ragged, and Merlin continued his halted climb up the flaming pyre. He stood before the prince and reached into his pocket to palm a dagger, the steel glinting a warm red in the fire’s glow. With a practiced thrust, he found the boy’s heart, and granted him the only mercy he could.

Arthur watched, gutted, as the boy slumped, the taste of burnt blood and flesh in his mouth, tearing at his eyes. The thumps of Merlin’s torso against the boy as one arrow, then two, found him. And they left him where he fell, the tied child’s corpse against the pole, and the slumped servant at his feet. The flames merrily caught the last bits of Merlin’s tunic and leggings, the smell of fat and singed hair beginning to build in the air.

  
  


The next day was cloudy, the trees wreathed in mist. Every sound seemed subdued, and what conversation was had was done in near whispers.

It wasn’t long before the horses met the road heading south, prancing a bit in the misty rain. Arthur kept his silence, and his armor beaded with rain, the cold water finding its way to the gambeson underneath.

Hunith kept trying to return the cloak, and he only glared at her in return. “You’ve given up enough for a Pendragon, isn’t it time I gave up something for you?”

She went pale and wide eyed at that. “A cloak,” she ground out, “will not absolve your conscience.” Her face twisted over the words, and Arthur near broke out in a fit of laughter at how much the gesture was purely Merlin.

With a barely repressed smile, he nodded, “no, Hunith it won’t. But it will save me the lecture from Merlin when we find him about you catching a cold.”

She leaned back and looked at him for a moment, then sat up straighter. “Too right.”

She dimpled a smile back at him. “And imagine the one he’s going to get for making me worry and traipse all over these woods with you?”

“Hunith, your lectures should be made into legends.”

“I think I’ll leave the legend making to my boys.”

He blinked at that, and shook his head. Both Merlin and his mother were at times unfathomable. But he’d grown this past spring, he knew now to keep his calm, to listen, and that things would make sense in time. Forcing the issue, violence, it only begat silence and pain.

So he waited her out in companionable silence, for like her son, eventually she’d fill it.

“So yes, I sent my child born with magic to the only fragile hope I had - that my brother would teach him patience and control, and that something, well something had to give before it all broke.”

“And then there was you, and Kilgharrah in Camelot. The dragon spoke to Merlin. The dragon told Merlin how to save you from the questing beast's mark, how to slay the knights who put the castle to sleep. The dragon told him his destiny was to protect you.”

She sounded mirthful. “And oh did Merlin look like he'd eaten something bad when he told Gaius. There must be some mistake, some other Arthur, because this ones' a bloody ass!”

Arthur huffed, “So…” he teased the words from his haunted thoughts. “It was all in the name of destiny?”

“Arthur, you were born a prince. But that didn't tell you how to act or what to do. There is nothing in destiny that says Merlin had to…” she trailed to a stop and pulled her horse closer to his.

She reached out and patted his knee. “Merlin cares for you. He'd rather die than see you hurt. He thinks the world of you, and waits for the day you look at him and see him as himself. My son has told you a dozen times, but you never listened. He'd have killed the dragon and damned his destiny if it would have stopped the suffering.”

Arthur kept his head down and his shoulders bowed. “It's just, I thought I was a friend.”

“My son gave his life for you, Arthur. You don't do that just because some dragon tells you to.”

“What? When…”

“The questing beast. You'll have to ask him to explain, I got very little out of him with the amount of pain he was in.”

‘Why was Merlin in pain? What…” he bit back the words in fear.

She sighed. “There is much my son doesn't tell me anymore. He knows I worry enough. And Arthur, you, may consider him a friend, but Merlin…” she went quiet. “I do know this. Gaius wrote to me. About Merlin coming back for a while. This year, he’s… given up, of you ever seeing him as anything more than a useless tool. That he'd ever be able to be himself without you looking at him as if he was Morgana. That when you knew of his magic he'd be less of a person and suddenly a monster.”

“From what you’ve said, you were right, he isn't fine. He's giving up.”

“I'm so very sorry Hunith. For everything I don't know. For not being the friend he needed.”

“Just find him Arthur. Once you do that, there is hope.”

  
  


The afternoon sunlight spilled weakly from the holes in the clouds, as they entered Appleton, the first town over the border into Camelot.

Gwaine’s talent for making friends became their best avenue for success. Hunith ventured out, purchasing food, and Leon and Arthur spent their time with the horses, currying, worrying, and finding things to distract their thoughts.

Gwaine’s abrupt arrival before sunset set Arthur off, his bar of saddle soap dropped, sword hilt found in the blink of an eye. “I found something,” Gwaine’s voice was grim and his jaw set.

Hunith came tentatively from behind him, putting down her load of goods into the stable. “What did you find?”

Gwaine shook his head, “just,” he sighed out and leaned against a pole, “just come with me.”

Gwaine took the four of them to a small row of townhouses, charming things with flowers in boxes out front, the smell of summer, lavender strong in the evening air. With a harsh glance at Arthur, he knocked on the last house in the row, “don’t say a word Arthur.”

A woman with a sunny smile, and bright blonde hair wrapped in braids answered the door. “How may I help you?”

Gwaine, tried on his brightest smile. “Hello goodwife, Susanna, was it?”

She dimpled and nodded. “I was assisting the watch in Springdale, and we heard tell of some issues with a trader taking children. You wouldn’t happen to have heard anything like this?”

Her demeanor quickly changed, and she clung to the door for support. “I don’t know what you’ve heard, but I’ve nothing to do with any kidnappings.”

Gwaine’s voice went quiet, “then what happened to your youngest girl, Susanna? Where’s Melanie?”

Her eyes went wide, and they bored into Gwaine’s, “You bastard, get out.” She moved to slam the door, but Gwaine’s hard boot went between the hinges.

Leon stepped up beside him, “Susanna, we’re looking for some missing people. Help us, help you. Whatever has threatened you or your daughter, we’ll protect you from them.”

Her eyes roamed over their swords, the armor, the livery, and they glazed over. “Melanie was a good girl. A good girl. She’ll have a chance now.” She sucked in a breath and the tears began to fall. “You just leave her be. He’ll give her a chance.”

Gwaine growled, “you sold your daughter into slavery. How much did he pay you? How much was your daughter’s life worth?” His voice grew louder, and the neighbors stumbled out to see the ruckus.

Susanna sagged to the floor, “please please be quiet. They can’t know. What would they do to my sons? Oh gods, be quiet.”

Leon pulled on Gwaine’s arm, and he pulled his foot from the door. Stepping back a pace, and he turned and brandished his sword till the neighbors found better things to do.

Arthur felt sick.

Hunith was enraged, face white and eyes blazing. “What did this man offer you?”

Susanna looked up from the floor of her entry way, and she spat out her words, “freedom. I’d no longer have to worry about my husband or my sons’ lives with her gone.”

Hunith grew pale, and rocked back on the stoop. Her hand shook where Arthur grabbed it, and she turned to him in pain. Her face softened when she realized he felt the same horror.

Arthur took a chance. “Did you see anyone else with him? Tall man, slim, dark hair? Large man, looks like he could tackle a tree and win?”

“I saw nothing but the chance to get rid of the cloud of death over my family. You want this man, look for his cart. That painted thing can’t be hard to find. He’s here at least once a year - rings the bell in the square, you can’t miss it. It’s the most garish painted thing you could imagine.” She shakily found her feet.

“You want him, you find him. But you leave my little girl where she is.” She pulled herself together to stand straighter, “you got what you came for, now get out.” The door slammed.

  
  


Arthur could not face the common room that night, he kept to himself, hiding in the stables, rubbing oil into tack, brushing the horses until they gleamed.

Hunith’s arrival broke him from his dark thoughts.

“Here, eat something.” She passed over a bowl of stew, barley bread and cheese. Filling food for a man who’d turn down rations for the third day.

She sat beside him in his cloak, warmly pressed close, and Arthur choked a bit on a piece of carrot at the realization this was the first mother he’d truly ever known. First one to ever touch him, the first to offer anything maternal in his life.

His voice was as broken as his heart, but he had to know. “Hunith. I know why you sent him, but, why did he stay?” The last line was spoken with the pleading of a boy at his mother’s knee. Arthur couldn’t remember the last time his voice had sounded that small.

“Arthur,” she put down her bowl and wound her arm into his, “my son found a purpose for his magic in you. I couldn't believe it the day he sent that first letter from Camelot.”

“He felt it was destiny.”

A whisper, “and what is destiny Hunith, what is destiny to friendship? to loyalty?”

“Perhaps you should find my son and ask him, Arthur,” she dipped her head to him, “my king.”

  
  


They left at first light, this time clear and bright. Once they knew what they were looking for, the track become obvious, and it became a race to catch up from the days they were behind him. They pushed the horses, and the next village had seen the cart leave not two days before. In agreement, they kept on, heads down and pressed for their goal.

Leon called a halt to their flight, letting the horses walk and rest themselves. It was the first time they’d had breath for conversation, and Hunith winced, the strain of a long harsh length in the saddle a foreign one.

Leon asked tentatively, “can... is... um... Can Merlin fight back? I mean his magic. Can he fight back if he was taken?”

She grimaced, “Yes, he could. But he's not immune to being surprised or hurt, or... and if Percival is there, he may not risk exposing himself.”

Gwaine muttered, “But why?”

Arthur broke in flatly. “At this point, he'd rather die than have me know.”

She nodded, “He'd give his life before letting you think him a traitor.”

“He,” he swallowed his pride and asked the question that had been haunting him for weeks. “He told Lancelot, didn't he?”

“No, Lancelot found out because Merlin almost didn't make it to you in time with that Griffon. Merlin has literally never told anyone of his magic in his entire life. Even Will found out by accident.”

“His friend was no sorcerer?”

“He just...” she held out her hands. “He was a good friend to Merlin. For much of his life, Will was Merlin's rock.”

Arthur sombered, knowing of the two he'd not been the better man.

“I have never spoken of his magic. I have never spoken of ... Balinor to Merlin. I think this is the first night since the day you were born that some words have been spoken.”

“Hunith. Whatever happens. Will you come back to Camelot with us?”

She startled. “What?”

“It was your home, and you left it to save yourself. And you stayed away so now one would look at you and Merlin and realize the connection. I am going to fix things. Fix things right. Would you come back with us?” His voice became thick with emotion. “No matter what we find.”

  
  


The next village they find the trail they expected, only this time they do not find news of any missing children.

Gwaine and Arthur returned to the camp where they’d left Leon guarding Hunith. “He was here, but he didn’t pick up anyone new.” Gwaine went to saddle his horse, but Arthur held out his hand. “Wait.”

Gwaine growled out his displeasure, “what are we waiting for.”

Arthur closed his eyes. “We’ve set a hard pace. Let’s give Hunith some time to rest, get food. I think there is more to learn here.”

Some of Gwaine’s displeasure left him. “All right. Just a few hours.”

Arthur nodded. “Just to midday.”

Leon pointed out a small orchard in the valley they had just passed, and they walked the horses and pick their way across the fields. From there they pick up early apples and soft cheese on dark bread from a tanned farmer and his young son.

The boy acts smitten with their swords and armor, and Hunith shyly asks the father of news. She mentions the tinker, and the man spills a tale about his neighbors boy, of how he claims a wild man trying to coax the boy in with sweets, how he hurt himself running away.

Arthur gripped his sword hilt, and demanded directions, much to the farmer’s surprise.

The directions led them into the woods, to a small stream in a wooded clearing. A small stone hut is built into the hillside, and the smell of woodsmoke fills the summer air.

Leon picks his way around the screen and banked fire where trout are pinned to smoke.

Arthur stalks to the door and knocks, mailed hand making deep booms, a trio of small birds that had nested in the thatch flutter off with a cry.

A woman opens the door, and once she sees their cloaks, goes pale, milk white under her tan. She recognized the king, and with shaking hands and downcast eyes, responds “Your majesty.”

Arthur’s heart constricts. They are back in Camelot’s lands, and he could feel the woman’s fear in each tremble. He mourned that his knights represent such pain. That he’s sent chasing after thieves, kidnappers, and yet he is the one who these women fear to open the door to.

He motions Gwaine and Leon to stay in the yard. Arthur swallowed his frustration. “Good woman, you have nothing to fear. We are searching for a man who has stolen children from a number of villages. We hear your son might have had a run in with him and can help us with information.”

Her eyes went wide and she looked straight at him, looking for the deception. She shook her head, “yes, I’m sorry, where are my manners? Please come in.”

She points to a small cot in the corner, behind a held-back drape. “Cole, up with you. You’ve got company.”

The blankets move and then the curtain, and a young man, not yet ten summers rubs his eyes. He sees the knights and stumbles back, eyes to his mother’s face.

Gently she chides him, “these good knights just want to hear what happened to you the other day.”

He visibly swallowed, and eyes still locked to his mother’s, nods. “Okay.” He looked down and then up at Arthur, “are you going after them?”

Arthur nodded. “I am.” Arthur reaches out to gently pat the child’s shoulder, and near startles out of his mail when the boy screams.

“Cole, Cole, honey, it’s alright, shh, shh,” she carefully kneels in front of him, pushes back his hair. “He didn’t know.”

Hunith pushed past him, “he’s hurt. May I help?”

She looked up in surprise at the fellow woman’s face, “If you know how to help him, please, by all means. I had hoped he’d just wrenched it.” Hunith sat Cole beside her at the table, and carefully pressed fingers down in certain places on his arm, voice gently soothing both boy and mother.

Arthur paced across from them, and gently he prods, retelling the story he heard from the farmer.

Cole nods. “He came after me, but I got away. I remember him.” He ducked his head, embarrassed.

Arthur took in a deep breath. “He’s come for you before?” Cole kept his head down, but he could see his mother’s pupils blown wide, her eyes racing from knight to knight.

“Cole. I’m going after this man, and I need your help to do it.”

Cole’s head whipped up.

“One of the first things you learn as a knight is to defend people who can’t fight. I am here to make sure that man doesn’t take anyone else away who can’t defend themselves. You were strong. You got away.” Arthur made his voice as gentle as he could. “That was as brave as any knight.”

“I need you to tell me everything you saw when you were with him, so I can have the best chance of getting the others he has taken away from him safely.”

Cole shivered, and pulled away from Hunith. “You’re going to take them away?”

“Yes.”

The boy went quiet, and he reached out a hand for his mother. Then tears welled, and slid down his cheeks. “I’ve seen him before. He was kind to me last time. Was nice to my mother. He asked me to help him out around town, errands. He’d give me copper pennies for my time. I helped him get food, and packed up his wagon. I did it last time, and he was kind.This time he wouldn’t take no, and he caught my wrist and tied me inside the cart. He stuffed a rag in my mouth and promised that if I screamed, he’d stay in town just…” the tears increased until he hiccuped, “until he saw my mother dead.”

He hiccuped and leaned into his mother’s side, “I don’t want her to die.”

Hunith narrowed her eyes at Arthur.

“Cole. I promise, no harm will come to you and your mother.” He pulled off his gauntlet and pressed his bare hand to the boy’s. “A king’s word is his promise.”

“You promise?” He tasted the words, and looked up, eyes red rimmed, snot trailing. He rubbed his nose with his sleeve. “I just kept jerking against the rope and I managed to get my hand out. I ran back here and hid in the barn until she found me.”

Arthur sighed softly. “Cole, who else was in that wagon?”

The boy went still. “Why?” He was silent for a moment, “you won’t hurt them, will you?”

“Was there,” he swallowed thickly, “someone else in that wagon with you?

Cole nodded, and continued rubbing at his eyes with his one sleeve.

Arthur looked down to his hands, “was there a black haired man in that wagon?”

At first, Arthur can’t force himself to look up, to see Cole’s face. But then another unhappy sob comes from the boy.

“He was hurt. He helped me. Helped me get out of the rope.” Cole began to tremble. “I’m sorry, please don’t hurt him.”

“Cole, the black haired man is my friend.” He pointed to Hunith, “and that is his mother. why would you think I would hurt him? The only person who needs to be afraid right now is the man who took you away.”

Cole looked from Hunith to his mother, and then back to Arthur. “I didn’t help him get away.” He curved back into his mother’s side. “Please don’t hurt me.”

Hunith reached out and pressed her palm to his cheek. “Thank you for being so brave Cole. Can you tell me what you saw with my son?”

Cole nodded, “He’s tall, so that man’s got him tied in half. He’s got this weird collar around him that makes him too sick to stand he said. He was able to undo the knot and tell me to run, but… he kinda fell asleep then. I tried to wake him up, I was going to help him, I swear, but then there were noises, and I ran… I’m sorry. I didn’t know you might.” He hiccuped, “might actually have helped someone…”

Arthur finished his sentence. “That we might have helped someone like you?” And where was Percival in all this? Bile rose in the back of his throat. Percival would never have let this happen.

Arthur felt the tension rise within him, anger warring with rage, and he snatched up his gauntlets and stalked to the door, intent to inform his knights of just what they were going to do when they found this loathsome peddler of human flesh.

Dimly, he could hear the boy thank Hunith and apologize for not saving Merlin. Arthur’s heart clenched, knowing that a small child should have to feel guilty for their life, that they actually felt guilt for not being to save his friend… well it didn’t sit well.

Leon looked to him, and seeing the expression on his face, swung up into his saddle. “I see you found something.”

Arthur nodded, jaw tight. “I found Merlin.”

Gwaine dropped his hand from patting his horse, “where is he?”

“He’s in that cart Gwaine. He’s been tied and bound and God knows what else, in some magic-induced stupor!”

In Arthur’s anger, he doesn’t notice Cole creeping up beside him, hunched over his hurt arm. The sounds of someone wailing in the house begin to build, and Hunith runs from the doorway to tug on Arthur’s chainmail.

“Arthur, you must end this.”

“Yes,” he ground out, “yes, I must.” He drew his sword, and Cole flew himself backwards, a sound of pain jarred from him as he hit the packed dirt.  
Gwaine walked forward and held out a hand to the boy, who stared at him with wide glazed eyes. “Here,” he reached down and pulled him up.

“He promised. A king’s word is is his promise.”

“Yes, kid. Arthur’s going to make sure this man feels the full force of law. Don’t worry.”

Cole flinched.

Law. Arthur gripped his sword and mounted his horse, thinking back over how many more this man had to have picked up over the years, and none of his people saw fit to report it.

Cole looked lost. “I’ll do my best to keep up, sir knights.”

“No, you’re not coming with us.” What good would that do?” Gwaine mounted his horse, and watched carefully as Hunith stilled, eyes bored into Arthur’s back.

Cole dropped to his knees, his hurt arm clutched close. “Please, mercy. You promised not to hurt her.” His eyes were round and filled with tears.

Gwaine stilled his horse. “Course we’re not going to hurt your mother.”

He licked his lips. “If you’re not taking me with you,” he panted, “not taking me there. Please, don’t let her watch. That will hurt her.”

Arthur was off his horse in an instant, falling heavily to his knees. He pulled out his sword and Cole trembled. Arthur tugged on his uninjured hand and wrapped it around the pommel of excalibur. “Today I promise you, Cole, after this, you will have nothing to fear again. Not for your mother, not for the man in the cart, and not…” he came closer, bending his head down till he was inches away from his face, “and not for your magic.”

This was a promise of the king he thought he was. The king he was going to be.

  
  


Arthur set a grueling pace, looking to use any of the remaining daylight. They galloped through the valley and up into the low hills in focused silence, Hunith’s face pale and struggling, Leon stealing glances here and there at Arthur’s lined face and set jaw.

Less than an hour from the village, the group of them come across a young woman in a dark green cloak, standing in the middle of the road.

“Good knights, please halt.”

Instantly Arthur stiffened in suspicion. While they’d been lucky on their journey so far, his constant run in’s with the local banditry left their mark.

The girl lowered her hood, and her eyes were dark and timid, her hands trembling around a knapsack. She brought out a red bit of cloth from her pack, and held it up to Leon like a flag of truce.

“He said the king would never deny anything to the person who bore this.”

Arthur’s world narrowed to just her hands and the red scarf. Leon gently took it from her, holding it up to see where it had been sliced. His eyes caught Arthur’s, solemn and set.

“Your knight was gravely injured. My brother was in the village this morning and brought word you were searching. He’s with my father. If you would follow me?”

Gwaine blew out a long-held breath. “Thank you.”

“I’d hoped,” Leon caught Arthur’s eyes. “Well at least we know where both of them are now.”

“It’s not far.” Her eyes dart to Hunith, “and you can rest with us.”

All thoughts of catching up with the peddler forgotten, as they looked to find their lost brother at last.

  
  


Arthur shuddered as the outline of the camp became clear of the evening fog. Deep in the foothills, and yet barely three hours from a town, he felt as if he’d fallen off a cliff into another world. So close to what he thought he knew, and yet so very different.

So much of the world Merlin had hidden from him. So much he had to answer for. So much Arthur needed to atone for, to ask forgiveness. For even if he was not his father’s son, too often he’d followed blindly. Morgana must truly think him small indeed, to have never noticed what had surrounded him all his life.

And how little everyone must think of their little king, as they went about their lives in the shadows.

Gwaine manages his fear with humor, as always. He makes small talk with the girl and coaxes her name from her, with a wink and a smile.

“Isla,” her voice lilts with a southern accent, and Arthur wonders how far she’s roamed in her life.

“Thank you for taking care of him. You and your family will be rewarded.”

She looked up at him, eyes wide and grave. “We believe in hospitality. We look for no reward for doing what is right.” She pulled her hood down.

Arthur mused, druid girl or not, magic user or not, there were an awful lot of peasants lecturing him on what was right, and what was law, and what was loyalty lately.

A cart was parked beside a series of tents, a large canvas tied between them to make a bit of a covered courtyard. And older man stood at their appearance, and pushed a cane into the ground. Limping heavily, he walked forward to the group, “good men, would you come see your friend?”

Gwaine slide down first, and reached out to the man, a warm hand on his forearm. “If it is Percival you have, then my good man you have all the gratitude I can show.”

The older man nodded and pointed to the tent to the left. “He was sleeping up to a bit ago, but you should be fine to wake him.”

Gwaine disappeared behind the flap with a shout, and then Arthur could hear Percival’s voice, and something inside of him tugged free of pain. Leon’s smile was wide, and he took the reins. “Go, sire. I’ll see to the horses.”

Arthur barely made it off his horse before Gwaine flew up the flap on the tent, and Percy emerged, pale and wan, leaning heavily against him. “Sire,” his voice was rasping, “thank god you’re here.”

Arthur reached for him and took some of his weight, “it’s alright Percival. We’re here now.”

He shook his head, hair damp with sweat, “you don’t understand, it’s Merlin, you’ve got to go save Merlin.”

Arthur looked at Gwaine, who pressed his lips into a thin white line. “Arthur’s been out looking for him and you all this time. We think we’ve found out where he’s being held.”

Percival choked, “then why are you here?”

Arthur pulled him to a stool by the fire in the courtyard of the tents. “Because this young woman found us and we needed to come see you for ourselves.”

Percival shuddered as he sat, leg held out stiffly in front of him. “Gwaine, Gwaine, it’s been weeks.” He cast his eyes to the fire.

Arthur stood and took a step back, catching Gwaine’s eye. “Talk to him.” Arthur would not judge Percy for his actions, when he was clearly so injured. He pulled back a space to the dark assessing eyes of the druid. Leaning close and asked simply, “what happened.”

The man nodded and motioned out into the fog. For a moment, Arthur hesitated, and then he followed unconcerned into the mist. He would learn to listen to any man brave enough to talk to him.

“We found him in a clearing about half an hour from here. He was raving in pain and fever. His horse had rolled, snapped something, and took him with it. It took some dealings to get him back to camp, and we thought we’d lost him twice. But a few days ago the fever cleared enough to find out who he was, and where to find his kin.”

Arthur closed his eyes in fear, he could not lose what few people trusted him, what few he trusted in return. Merlin, Merlin, trusting and trusted, he couldn’t lose any more.

Arthur turned back and walked through the fog to the flickering fire light. As he got closer, he could hear Gwaine whisper to Percival. “I know, okay? I know what you're doing. You thought I'd kill him.”

“Not you, him.” His voice was gravelly with fear, haggard with disuse. “Lancelot warned me.”

“Lance warned everyone.”

“I don't know what to think, he was never sensible when it came to him. I wish I would have known, I would have helped him. He shouldn’t have had to live in fear like that.”

Arthur emerged from the dark. “You’re right. Glad to know my knights have so much faith in my judgement.”

Gwaine glared, “can you blame Percy, you've been so cruel to him, to Merlin.”

At this, his face fell. “I... I'm changing. I’m trying.”

There was no more conversation after that, and Leon, Isla, and Hunith came into the ragged shelter to cold silence.

Percival looked up and mustered a deep breath, “Hunith, I’m so sorry about Merlin.”

She knelt in front of his leg and tentatively touched the swollen, splinted flesh. “Tell me what happened.”

He eyed Arthur, and she placed a hand on Percy’s arm. “Arthur knows. It will be alright.”

“We were almost to the border, Merlin wanted to stop and gather some particular moss for Gaius. We ran into a trader, and he offered to share his fire. I remember eating dinner, and not much else. When I woke, the fire was embers and the man, his cart, and Merlin were gone. He’d left the horses, too much risk I think, they wear Camelot’s brand.”

“I tried Hunith, I went to go after them, but he’d done something to the food, I couldn’t walk straight, think straight. I went to saddle the horse, and then something happened, and I don’t know. I just remember pain.” He motioned to the man and his daughter, “they found me under my gelding,” he pointed down, “and luckily saved my leg, and my life.”

Arthur nodded to the man and his daughter. “Your daughter claims you will not take a reward, but you have all of my thanks and more besides.”

“My daughter would not see her kindness to a man in need as a twisted form of gold-seeking.” She squirmed in her seat and gave her father a look. “We’ve kept the living horse with us, in good stead, for when your friend was well enough to return.”

Arthur winced, he’d not think to ask after Merlin’s horse. Daft man would cry if something happened to it.

They were quiet around the campfire, and Isla did her best to keep up the chatter, stories and comings and goings on for the past season. Arthur found himself relaxing and Hunith sleepily leaned against his shoulder.

Leon reached over and pulled Hunith’s cloak, once Arthur’s, closer around her, and he caught his eye. He whispered, “she trusts you, Arthur, you’ll get him back.”

Arthur swallowed and nodded.

Leon stood up and pointed to where Percival lay asleep. “I’m going to get him to Gaius. We still might be able to heal that.”

“Not Gwaine?”

“No, you need someone to remind you of a few things.”

Arthur’s momentary good mood evaporated. “So glad to hear your faith in me.”

“Percy was right, you never did have a lick of sense when it came to Merlin. Gwaine might not have a lot of sense, but he always did balance the two of you out.”

Arthur thought back to the Perilous Lands, and some of the hurt eased. “Perhaps.” After a bit of musing, he commented quietly, “good luck Leon, and thank you.”

“For what?” Leon looked perplexed.

“For following your king, mad as a march hare, across the land without a word of reproach?”

“Oh Arthur, I could just see you were doing a good enough job on yourself.” He looked down to Hunith’s sleeping form, “and besides, I remember what it was like to disappoint my mother. There’s nothing like that guilt.”

Arthur choked, “she not...”

Leon laughed, “I think you’ve been adopted, sire.”

  
  


The druid encampment held three other families besides Isla and her father. With their help, tracking down the trader’s wagon was simply a matter of waiting for midday, when the children and adults came back from tracking who was traveling the roads, and checking the snares.

In the end, Arthur found it all horrifyingly simple, once he started listening, once he knew how to look. If that was how Merlin felt, he could only wince in sympathy to how isolating, how maddening, how frustrating it was to see the ties, the warnings, and know you couldn’t stop it.

Leon took Percival at midday, Gwaine leaning in close to Percy’s shoulder, and promising to return Merlin, safe and sound. Arthur shook his head, wondering if it was him swearing, if Percival would have found some way to stay. Leon was right, damn him.

Hunith refused to listen to his reasons, and in the end, he let her and the other druids follow, one single merchant wouldn’t put up a greater fight than he and Gwaine could handle. They followed the road west.

  
  


Arthur gripped his sword as tight as he could as he crept behind Gwaine, the leather in the gauntlets a low sound as he went tighter and tighter. He may not have seen this begin, but by all that he held holy, he’d see it end.

The boy Isla had him follow, waved them to stop, and he crept forward, leaving the knights and Hunith behind.

The waiting was close to killing him. The sound of his own heartbeat choked him, fast and loud and uncouth, it strangled any words he had. The light of the fire in front of him beckoned him to run and attack, but he couldn't find words, a step, an action to go forward. His heart just thumped, and he felt like all the words he wanted to say to Merlin once he dumped him out of that cart just throttled him.

Gwaine thankfully took the lead when the boy waved them forward. "Halt." The voice was strong and sure in a way Arthur's could only hope to be. Gwaine's wasn't long to follow into the clearing, "stay your hand, you're surrounded."

Arthur looked to Hunith in the shadows. She seemed small in his cloak, weighed down in the colour red. Arthur's heart thumped in his ribcage, he was going to find Merlin and sit on him for all the pain he’d caused.

He came into the clearing, to face this wretched thief, this man who dared to drug his knight, who dared to steal the king’s only true friend, to drag all this madness into light by tearing a hole in the world where Merlin once stood beside him.

Arthur growled.

The man was silver haired, and lean, short cropped beard, well kept leathers and a dark green linen shirt. He looked like a kindly man, with laugh lines and bright eyes across the small fire. The man looked to Arthur, and quite perplexedly, visibly relaxed, “Ah, knights of camelot.”

“You know who we are?” and you do not fear? You foolish thief.

“You are not the first knights I've met on this road.”

Arthur grimly nodded, hand hard at the hilt, soon he would let loose his fury.

The next words decoupled him, “I've had many exchanges with you noble knights through the years.”

Arthur found his hands white knuckled in rage. “You mean Percival, who you drugged?”

The merchant’s head whipped up, and the first sign of fear crept into his eyes. “Belay your words. Come and join our fire. We shall talk as civilized men.”

Gwaine tightened his grip on his blade. “Civilized? You've been stealing children.”

The man tilted his head, and his hand trembled around the iron pan in his hands. “I've been rescuing innocents.”

Arthur swore. “And what of the man in your cart? Was he one of your innocents? Bring him out right now!”

The man rocked back on his heels, and the pan fell into the fire. “That one? Long gone.”

Arthur stumbled, too late to realize the magic, too late to save him. “Where did you sell him?”

He looked at Arthur, shaking in his fury. “I sent him to the safest place I imagined he'd be. The court at Essetir.”

“Safest?” The laugh was mockery. “You sent him to hell.”

“I sent him to the only available path I had, the best chance that he had of living.”

“And the children?” Gwaine mocked, “stealing them from their homes was the best chance they had?”

“Melanie, come here.” The merchant pitched his voice loudly, and the cart behind him rocked.

She shuddered as she came down the steps, and to Arthur’s horrid dismay, hid behind the trader.

“Melanie. Where did you live before me?”

She gulped, “under the stairs.”

“Did you ever go outside?”

She shook her head.

“So Knights of Camelot. This one has a choice of a life lived in the dark, in the spring house, in cold and mold. Or with me. Or with you, on a hot pyre of burning flesh.”

He reached into his cart and tossed a heavy bag.

“For your silence, good knight. And my regrets at drugging your friend. I looked only to retrieve the boy from him.”

Arthur saw red. “You think to buy me?”

“I think that you, like so many before you, would like to live your lives without the stain of a small child's blood on your hands.”

Arthur paled. “So many?”

He nodded, “so many.” He jerked his head. “I've saved so many since then, so many from your way of,” he laughed, harsh, “justice.”

Gwaine’s eyes went wide. “Saved? Do you even know what they do with these children?”

He shook his head. “Just because Camelot sees no value in them doesn’t mean they don’t have their use.”

“Use?”

“Some men pick through the midden heap for valuable things others throw out. I do the same. I catch them before society can throw them away. Make a bit of coin on the really talented ones. Give’em a chance that doesn’t end in feeling their skin melt and their flesh sizzle.”

“So lads, let us share a wine skin.” He poked at Melanie, “and let this little one find a life beyond your fire.”

Gwaine shook with barely restrained horror. “And the man you stole? Didn’t he already have a life?”

The nameless trader shook his head, “he was in danger. How long would a knight of Camelot have let that servant live?”

Arthur’s voice broke, and became a soundless cry.

“Look good knights. Let's let the shining honor of Camelot live another day without the ashes of some child or another who had the misfortune of being born with magic.”

With their silence, he waved over at the girl. Melanie struggled, but brought out the two heavy wine skins from the cart.

Arthur unsheathed his sword, and she toppled, screaming, holding her hands above her head. In a moment, he was over the old man. “Where, is, Merlin.”

“Who?”

“The servant, man you took, the man you collared until he couldn't even stand, where is Merlin? Where did you sell him in Essetir?” he near screamed, veins straining.

“Lot... Lot pays good money. Sometimes I sell the older ones to help give me coin to buy the younger.”

“You, you,” he panted, sword to the man’s neck. “You sold him to Lot?”

“I…” he pleaded in a small voice, “I saved him from Camelot’s fury.”

Arthur hurled his sword into the underbrush as Hunith's sobs cut across the campfire.

  
  


Time held its breath, while Arthur stood staring at his hands. His sword lost to the underbrush, the child pale and silent in her terror.

“I am going to get him.”

Gwaine stood and the merchant cowered. “Peace good knights, peace.”

“I am going to get him.”

Gwaine grit out. “And you'll start a war. Lot won’t take kindly to your interference.”

“Then I'll start a war.” He looked at Melanie, then at Hunith, and grief took over his voice.

Gwaine softened, “and then these will pay, everyone will pay.”

“Even him?” Arthur raged and pointed at the merchant, the peddler of children he never bothered, never cared to protect.

“Even him,” Gwaine reached out a hand to still him, patted his arm.

Arthur slammed his gauntleted hand against the closest tree. “Shall I just overlook this? Shall I burn the visible ones, sell the invisible?”

The tinker held Melanie close, “Uther did.”

At the mention of father, he pales further.

“Melanie. You are no longer… invisible. You don’t deserve to live under the stairs. Will you come with me?”

The man laughed, “a knight of Camelot, asking for a child born of magic?”

“Yes, gods yes, anything to stop this madness. I stand for honor, not glory, not madness. I stand for the weak, the helpless, and by god, if anyone is that, it’s her.”

“You’d stand for her?” He went quiet.

“Better than you,” Arthur sneered, “thief.”

“Rescuer. I’d see her at least not dead. Can you say the same? Can you knights of Camelot tell your precious king to stop burning humans as though they were some kind of inherent sin?”

Gwaine cowered, “it’s not like that.”

Arthur roared, “yes, by god, I can. And you will turn that child over to me?”

The trader looked old by the firelight. “So finally, shall I have to decide. The life of an innocent, or mine?”

Arthur deflated. “No. You’ve done what you could. I just mean to…” he choked, “mean to make your career no longer an option.”

“You’d see them all silenced?”

“I’d see them home with their loved ones.”

“Ah, then you’re a brave one. How much longer,” he looked to Gwaine, to Hunith, “how much longer will you live until mad king Arthur hears of you? How long good knight, will you be able to go off duty in another land to find your friend before your king recalls you?”

“Just go!” Arthur roared in grief and guilt, and the trader, still nameless, still without a history, flees.

Melanie cowered in the leaves, the fire hissing around the fallen pan.

Hunith settled beside her, crooning soft words of solace.

Gwaine stands beside him. “I’ll go get him.”

“You, just… no.”

“I’ll go.”

Arthur’s heart broke, and he held his mailed fists to his chest. “I can’t just leave him.”

“Yeah, you can. You can go back home with her, and you can leave this to me.”

He pulled back. “And you think this why?”

“Because, you going? You’ll start a war. You’re half panicked already. Lot will take an offence, and too many innocents,” he waved at Hunith, clutching at Melanie, “will fall at his fury.”

“I can’t just let this stand.”

“Sometimes you just have to believe in people. I was a wanderer once. I’ll be one again.”

“You mean, believe in you?” The silence was uncomfortable. “He's the one who had faith - I never did.”

“I'll go -- and you'll make it safe for me to bring him home.”

Arthur nodded. “A full pardon.” Pause, “and I guess you'll be needing one as well.”

A smile at least. “Probably.”

“And I expect a bit more than just a pardon.” Gwaine frowned. “I wasn’t thinking about me. When I bring him back, it better to be to something better than when he left.” His voice was cold and his gaze hard.

Arthur swallowed. “Gwaine, you have my word. I’ll make this right.”

Gwaine parted with a shake of his head and a hand to his shoulder. He pulled off his mail and pulled a shirt out of his pack.

Arthur spoke to himself. “I swear it. I will see you home, Merlin. A home for you.”

  
  


Arthur packed the second bedroll onto his horse, his head pounding, and eyes pained. What little sleep he’d found was haunted, and Hunith’s eyes showed the same history.

Melanie huddled under his cloak, eyes filled with fear, resolutely sticking her thumb in her mouth, her arm under her armpit.

Arthur ran a hand through his hair for the hundredth time before slowly letting his thoughts bubble to halting speech. “I have an army, the the most powerful... but I'm afraid to wield it, the consequences…”

She leaned into him. “Now you know how Merlin feels. The weight he carries. The price he’d pay if he stepped wrong.” She eyed the child. “The reason for his silence. It’s not just what you would do to him, it’s what you would do to us all.”

Arthur prayed he’d find a way out of this disaster with no more innocent blood on his hands.

But what has he to pray for? This was his doing, his ignorance, his pride. It was time he stopped casting his shadow over his people’s lives. To return them to the light, to end his father’s prejudice. And Merlin?

Idiot.

This time the word was for himself. But truly, perhaps he had been the idiot this entire time.

Arthur’s thoughts were dark, his armor damp and heavy, his heart empty and bruised from the past few days. It was a long walk home to a place he loved with all his heart, a place he thought was the shining example of welcome and safety, only to find that the very core of what he thought he was saving, he’d spent his life destroying.

He couldn’t remember who had once attacked him and told him that magic was at the heart of Camelot. Strange how right they were. For Arthur knew his heart was made true by Merlin, and Merlin seemed to be magic itself.

So many things were going to have to change. It wasn’t going to be easy… but then again was anything Merlin had accomplished so far, easy?

And if anyone in Camelot could win trust and loyalty, it was Merlin.

Arthur reached out a hand to give a comforting touch to Hunith. He gave her a soft smile. “Have hope. He would.”

Her eyes crinkled and her smile grew fond, though small. “I do have hope.” She reached down and touched his hand. “Hope in you.”

He hazarded a small laugh, “not Gwaine?”

  
  


The road back to Essetir was smooth and well worn, and Gwaine swore if he ever saw it again in his lifetime, it would be too soon.

He rolled over the last letter in his mind for clues. Never in his lifetime would he have guessed that finding her might mean finding Merlin. Gods, she was going to have a field day with this.

Essetir. The capital, Bedegraine. Not a place he ever expected to willingly go back to, much less near run his horse to the ground to gain. He nudged his horse to a faster pace.

They’d gone so far back and forth that his heart panicked at how many days Merlin had been gone, been in Lot’s care.

Lot’s friendly hospitality.

A part of him just wanted to storm the castle that loomed over his youth. The other part of him that wanted to see Merlin alive, it argued he stay his hand. So first he'd try the patient way, and if that failed, he'd go out with his head high.

Going back without Merlin was not an option.

  
  


The two days it took to return to Camelot were filled with silence and grief. Arthur had to admit to himself that he mourned; all the missed opportunities, all the mistakes, all the time he could maybe, just maybe have gotten his father to listen.

Morgana.

Just so many years of secrets. He looked up to the small child on his horse. To think of Morgana, even Morgause, that young, and that filled with fear. Merlin that young.

Merlin had always looked at him with such faith. No wonder he had such great hope, it was all that kept him going.

Arthur shook himself as they neared the city’s gates. There were two ways forward. One where he carried all the doubts and burdens of the past, and the other where he validated Merlin’s unwarranted faith.

And Arthur, doubting and stubborn and afraid, knew there was no way he was letting his friend live one more day in the shadow of his father, of him.

Arthur thought of the glowing sphere in the cave, when he went to save Merlin’s life.

It was time to bring the light back to Camelot.

  
  


Bringing Hunith to Gaius was an obvious choice. But when he crossed the threshold to see both Leon and a pale, swaddled Percival, he wondered if he should find someplace quieter.

A panting Elyan ran in not a moment behind. “Sire, you’re back!”

Melanie stayed glued to Hunith’s skirts, eyes round with fear at the press of knights in the small space.

“It’s okay Melanie. These men are friends,” Hunith patted her hair gently.

Melanie looked up to Hunith and then for a bare moment at him. She looked more wary than afraid. It was more interaction than he’d had since the night they met.

“Knights, you know Hunith, Merlin’s mother.”

There were quiet greetings.

“This is Melanie. She’s going to be staying with us while we solve some… issues.”

Gaius eyed him warily. “And what issues would that be, sire?”

Arthur looked to Leon, to Percival, and steeling himself, to Elyan, who most likely had no idea just all that had happened. “To lift the death sentence on magic.”

Melanie sniffled, and no one spoke.

Elyan looked back at Arthur with a small huff. “So I heard. You do know Gwen’s got Geoffrey half mad dragging every pre-purge law book to your study, right?”

Arthur trembled. “You mean, you… know?”

Leon spoke up. “Sire, I told them. I know you. You’ve never stood for injustice when you saw it.”

Arthur’s eyes went glassy. His men never questioned that he would fix things. Not a breath of reproach for Merlin. Not even Elyan. And it seems not Gwen.

A small smile. Of course his wife would support her closest friend.

Arthur took a moment to just enjoy the sight of his men, and their unwavering faith. He caught the eye of Percival, who seemed worn but proud. “And how are you holding up?”

“I’ve been better, but on the mend. I see you’re mending things here as well.”

Arthur grinned, “so it would seem.”

“Ahem,” Gaius cleared his throat from behind him. “So Leon has caught me up, and it seems you’re set on allowing magic to be practiced freely?”

Arthur nodded, and was pleased to avoid Gaius’ dour looks.

“Well then, perhaps you would allow me to help Percival here. I may be many years rusty, but there are few things in healing that magic was better at than setting bones without pain.”

Arthur grinned, “that sounds wonderful. Percival, would you allow Gaius to well…” he broke off and fluttered his fingers. “Heal you?”

Arthur startled, when something brushed his leg. He looked down to find Melanie, clutching at his calf. “Do you want to watch?”

She jerked her head.

“Then Gaius, please, by all means.”

  
  


The capital of Essetir, Bedegraine, was a sprawling town that spilled over the fortress’ walls. Dodging the travelers, merchants and wagons, Gwaine made his way into the town proper, hesitantly recalling the years of his youth spent playing on its streets.

“Excuse me, I'm looking for a tailor. Galla O'Malley.”

It took more than a few questions, wrong turns and very sore feet before Gwaine and his exhausted horse stood beside a small townhouse, a shopfront with the sign of a spool and scissors in faded blue, the wood rosy in the coming sunset. He steeled himself for battle, and knocked.

A curse from within, and he chanced a smile. Nothing had changed.

"John Darius, if you think pestering me is going to get you... bloody bleaming buffon," the muffled voice grew louder and clearer, and the door whipped open.

"Oh." Her eyes were round as coins.

"Galla. Still winning friends with your sunny smile and sweet words?" The red hair was longer than he remembered, this time in one long braid instead of two, but the eyes were just the same. Brown or green depending on the light, but always flashing.

Her eyes grew frightened, and she yanked him inside, slamming the door and crossing the bar. "Gwaine. What in the... who's after you? What did you do this time?"

Gwaine's mouth firmed to a thin line. "What, can't I just visit?"

“You, visit? Don't make me laugh. How much do you owe?”

“Owe?” he near growled. “Like I would come to you for money!”

“Like you'd come to me for anything other than desperation! So Gwaine, who's going to be beating down my door tonite?” Her hand went to her waist, and Gwaine lunged to grasp her wrist.

“Don't you threaten me.”

“I was going to grab the key to the cellar, and stick you in the dark where you belonged. With the ale and the turnips.”

“Lies. Last time we fought you stabbed me.”

“Last time we fought, you deserved it!”

“That's not what mother said!”

“Mother always took your damn side.” She stomped.

“Galla, please.”

Her look softened. “You are desperate. Just tell me.”

Gwaine sighed, and the leagues he'd traveled caught up with him. “Do you have a place where I can rest my horse? We can talk then.”

In short order, his horse was stripped of it's Camelot livery, and stabled down the street at a small inn. They walked back to her home in silence, and he kept his gaze on the cobblestones, while her eyes kept darting to him whenever she thought he wasn't watching.

Once behind the closed and latched door, he took a heavy sigh. “I'm here to get a friend out of trouble.”

A friend, her eyebrow rose, “are you sure you don't mean you?”

“I left my friends on the border of Camelot and Escetir. They are trusting me to get him out.”

“On the border? You fall into a group of bandits, brother mine?

“Knights.” He smiled weakly. “Knights of Camelot.”

She sucked in a breath. “Lot took one of the Knights of Camelot? Gods above. Mad King Arthur will have a fit.”

Gwaine startled. “Mad?”

“Uh, yeah. Hello. Between the crazy sibling thing, the irrational hatred of magic, the obvious hereditary mushy brain? Why the hell have you been hanging out there?”

Gwaine blinked. “It doesn't really matter, does it?”

“Okay, so you came to me to help what... spring a knight from the dungeons?”

Gwaine winced, no matter how he phrased it, she was not going to like it. “More like kidnap back a sorcerer?”

She rolled her eyes. “Gwaine, why are you really here?”

So it was back to that, was it. “Really Gally. To rescue him.”

“Where is the friend.”

He rubbed the back of his neck. “Well all signs point to him being Lot's having bought him.”

“So... you…” she spluttered. “The Knights of Camelot are hunting down a sorcerer, and you need me to help you kidnap him back, so you can take him back to the kingdom he’d burn in?” She put her hands on her hips. “And you call him a friend?"

Gwaine sheepishly nodded. “It's not as bad as it sounds.”

"God, Gwaine, you've really gone insane."

“Let me explain…”

She cut him off with a slash of her arm. “I don’t want to hear it. Get some sleep, you look like you’ve not slept in a month.”

“I, I,” he stammered. “I really haven’t.”

He sleeps the sleep of the damned that night and well into the next day.

  
  


Evening found him outside the physician’s door, Hunith and Gaius’ voices soft and hazy through the wooden frame. Tentatively he knocked.

“Your majesty.” Gaius didn’t seem surprised.

Arthur leaned against the lintel and hesitated. “I.. I was hoping.”

Gaius breathed out heavily, “come in Arthur.”

Mutely, he followed, taking a seat at the table across from Hunith and her red rimmed eyes.

“We were just speaking about Merlin.”

“I can imagine. I wanted to … I’m planning on…” he slumped forward and caught his head in his hands. “Gaius, just, why could no one just speak to me? I’m starting to think I never deserved to know. Like I was never good enough to be included.”

“We didn’t want that weight on your shoulders.”

“He was my friend!” It rushed out in a bitterness and anger and despair.

Then Arthur covered his face with his hands and spoke to his palms. “I don’t think he can forgive me,” he whispered. “I don’t think I can prove to him that he was wrong not to trust me.”

“I did everything badly.”

“Are you truly sorry for it?” she asked. “Then he will forgive. And you will get him back. Trust in Gwaine. Trust in yourself.”

“And, if he doesn’t?”

Gaius’ voice was leaden, “then you will go to war. For there could be no greater threat to Camelot than Merlin being wielded as a weapon, without his conscience, without being in control.”

Hunith laid a hand on his shoulder and placed a warm fragrant cup in front of him.

Arthur sipped his tea and tried to keep his shaking hands still.

  
  


Galla sat at the table across from him, stabbing her carrots like they owed her money.

“Hey now, what's on your mind,” he tried the gentle tactic, going so far as to reach a hand halfway across the table before she brandished her fork menacingly.

Stab, chew, stab.

“Really, Galla.”

She looked at him and chewed thoughtfully, her fork held daintily in the air in mid-downward stroke. "I hear life is pretty nice in Camelot. If you happen to not be different."

He rolled his eyes. “I told you, it's not like that.”

“I heard you. You’re just like them, you don’t see it.” The stabbing commenced until the last carrot slice cringed on her plate. “It's just how it starts.”

“What do you mean, starts?”

“Well it makes sense, doesn't it? Start by weeding out those who are different. Weak. At first, those who were strong in magic, then all the way down to the midwives who spent a bit too much time in the woods. No one stood up when it first started, who is to say where it will end?”

He shook his head. “I told you.”

Sadly, she replied, “and I heard you.”

She looked mournfully at her carrot ridden plate, and started her siege on the peas.

“I told you, at first they come for the sorcerers, and no one says anything, because they are afraid, and they aren't magic. Then they come for the healers and the midwives, because you have to be quite thorough in stamping out that menace, right? Then the women because they have something you want, and it gives you power over them. Then the poor in general, because why not?” Her voice went low.

“Galla, it's not... I hear you, but it's not like that.”

“No one stands up for them. And no one stood up for me.”

His fork clattered, his carrot gone escaping somewhere on the floor. “You weren't. You aren't a sorceress, Galla.”

“Did it matter when they ran me out of town? Did it matter when they accused me? Did it matter when they were taunting me and all you had to say was that ‘boys were boys’ and I needed to toughen up?”

“When the hell did being guilty matter to bullies like Camelot? And so you keep trying to convince me to save this friend,” she sneered at the word, “so you can take him back there.”

Gwaine laid both his hands flat on the table and breathed all the tension in his shoulders out. “I think if I bring him back, it will end.”

“What?” her fork joined his to drop at the table, peas surging over the edge to flee the plate.

“I think, the King, he's going to lift the ban. Stop this.”

“Because of him?”

“Because of him.” His voice was firm. “And if I can get him back, he'll help make sure it goes right.”

She picked her fork back up, “must be some friend.”

  
  


He had always known that his father's treatment of sorcerers was extreme. Motivated by something beyond justice and more like fervor.

He had always feared that such lengths would result in innocent people being arrested and possibly even executed. But he trusted in his father, in the courts, to see that the letter of the law was upheld.

But he’d seen, even when he did his best to ignore it, that not all those who were punished were guilty.

Gwen’s father was proof of the extremity to which magic moved the courts beyond all sense or reason.

But for each failure he saw of his father’s court, he had sworn that he would not make such mistakes when he ruled. That he would not continue his father's overzealous ways.

He had not considered that the law itself could be so warped, so very wrong. Magic was not a choice, no more than being born a noble, or having blond hair.

Merlin had challenged him on it in their early days. Why was he willing to reconsider every other rule but this? A long time ago, he had questioned it, because he had hated the executions, hated how afraid it made everyone feel. Hated the raids and the smell of burnt flesh.

But he had been taught to stop. Beaten to accept without argument.

The desire to question had been beaten out of him. Beaten until not even his sister or his closest friend thought safe to confide in him.

Merlin was right. Everyone was afraid, and Arthur had been too blind to allow himself to see it. Because if he did, if he faced the truth, it meant facing his own weakness and cowardice. Because deep down he was terrified of defying his father. Terrified of seeming weak for being beaten down.

And that was why none of them trusted him. Because in his life, the living and ghost of Uther commanded him more than his ties of friendship or loyalty, and they knew it.

It was only when someone came into his life that he stood up - Lancelot and the knight's code... now Merlin and magic. And now this one.

Arthur ended his musing and looked down at Melanie. He reached a hand down to pat her pale curls. “Are you ready?” Ready to disappoint my father? Ready to infuriate his ghost, ready to tear down the last of his legacy?

Quietly she nodded. Arthur’s insides turned. Far too quiet this one was. And here he was dragging her into this. He shook his head, there was nothing for it. It needed to be done. Her hand held to his, strong and trusting.

It’s okay little one, he’s gone, and I’m here. And I will never see you burn.

He pushed the doors of the council room wide, and stepped forward, sure and strong, Melanie walking tentatively in his shadow.

“Today, I have an important announcement to make.”

  
  


Gwaine paced while Galla washed up. “I need to get into the castle. If Lot’s bought him, he’ll keep him close.”

Galla shook her head, “you’ve got no sense. There may not be an official price on your head, but Lot’s men will remember some of the things you’ve done. It won’t end well. And where will your friend be then?”

“What, so I’m supposed to just stay here?”

She handed him a dish. “No, you’re supposed to stay here and dry dishes.”

“You don’t know what they could be doing to him!”

“And you don’t know either. So don’t you dare run off all half cocked and get yourself thrown into the dungeons. You know I won’t get you out.”

“Galla please,” he ran his hand through his hair, and put the plate in the cupboard, “please don’t make light of this.”

“I’m not. I’m just trying to get you to see some sense, and let me think.”

“I came to you for help.”

“Brightest thing you’d done lately,” she grinned.

“This isn’t helping.”

She stopped and rinsed the soap from her hands. “And what would you have me do? Talk to my friends and ask them if they heard anything? Or perhaps have the boys who do the kitchen deliveries keep an eye out? See if the blacksmith had heard anything about a boy and collars?”

He twisted the towel in his hands, “yes, that!”

Galla laughed. “I did that before breakfast, you numpty. Now get back to drying, I’m running out of space.”

“You used every dish you own, I think.”

“Well, isn’t often my brother comes to visit,” she said softly.

“I suppose that’s true. I am sorry you know.”

“About what? So many things you’ve done…”

He cut her off, “I’m sorry I didn’t come to visit. That it had to be like this.”

“Let’s just sort things out, one mess at a time.”

  
  


At night after the arguing and the madness that was speaking to the cancel, Arthur curled tightly into a ball on his bed and thought back to Morgana. To Gwen. To Merlin, to himself

They'd all lost something precious, their fathers. And for all that he'd learned, he still had compassion for Morgana, who never saw a way out.

But she lashed out and hurt the very people she wished to rule.

For a moment he thought over Merlin. If anyone had ever a reason to lash out, to take over Camelot, and the means to do it? it was him.

A small laugh escaped, poor Morgana, Merlin's very existence put to lies all her reasons for turning against them all.

If she knew, she'd really hate that.

  
  


The next day dawned, and Gwaine rose early, his sleep restless with half remembered dreams.

At the foot of the bed were a new tunic in pale green, brown trousers in a thick material, the color of moss. He smiled at his sister’s silent apology. Washing up, he went downstairs with a smile on his face, the first in a long time.

“Galla, have you?” He broke off his question when he noticed the two women conversing with his sister, pulled close and in hushed towns.

“I’ll just, be,” he pointed, “over here when you need me.”

Gwaine made himself busy, sweeping the threads and bits of fabric from the work room, occasionally poking his head around the open door to stare at the three women.

It was a good half an hour before Galla came to see the women to the door.

Bursting with impatience, he tossed the bolt of cloth he was half heartedly dusting to the floor.

“What have you heard?”

She shook her head, “not much. But it looks like this isn’t the first time Lot’s done something like this. He’s rather,” she twisted her lips, “excited over this one.”

Gwaine wished he had something in his hands to tear apart. “Excited? I’ll show him..”

“Stop,” she called out curtly. “It’s not helping,” she followed up, softly.

“Look, I still don’t get what you’re about dragging this man back to Camelot, but I’ll help you get him out of here. Just need to be patient.”

She looked thoughtful and tapped her face. “Perhaps it’s time I try to drum up some extra business. Hand me that skein,” she pointed up the ceiling where yarn in all colors was twisted neatly. “I’ve an idea.”

It was disturbingly easy to get into the castle, weighted down with cloth and trim. He grumbled up the streets and into the bailey about not being her pack mule, but the sheer ease at which she bantered, cajoled, flirted and threatened her way inside was almost impressive enough for him to shut up.

“Just, stay with the cloth, okay?” He nodded, sullenly. “I mean it Gwaine, just stay there, I need to get an audience with one of the nobles soon or they’ll realize I don’t need to be here.”

With that, she ducked down a bannered hall, and Gwaine leaned the goods against the wall. Seeing his chance, he grinned at the guard at the door. “So I bet you see everything that comes and goes in this castle, eh?”

  
  


Galla fumed.

“Not only did you get us tossed out, you didn’t even pick up the damn cloth! Do you know how much that cost? Do you have any idea how much I needed that to finish my current orders?”

She screamed, nostrils flaring, “do you have any brains under that bloody hair of yours?”

Gwaine stopped in the middle of the street. “I was just asking people if they…”

“If they what Gwaine? If they seen smuggled human slaves? What person in their right mind would answer that?”

He shook his head, “anyone who would want to help.”

“Gwaine, don’t you get it? They won’t see it that way. They see a prisoner, probably with a cooked up story of how he violated some virgin noble’s daughter. No one ever thinks of themselves a slaver.”

“You’re looking for some trussed up innocent, and they aren’t going to have seen that.”

Thinking back, he nodded sadly. “You’re right, I just…”

“You just can’t be patient.”

A soft smile, “It always works Galla.”

She huffed and placed her hands on her hips. “Brother dear, you got thrown out of almost every gaming room and tavern in town.”

“In Camelot, it almost always worked.” His face fell. “Course I had Merlin with me.”

She laughed behind her hand, “ah, so now we see the real truth. That’s some magic!”

They walked up the street to her shop, and guilt gnawed at his bones when he saw the thread on the sign. “When I get back to Camelot, I’ll send you money or fabric, or whatever you need, alright?”

She glanced over her shoulder, “maybe I’ll take you up on that. Come visit.”

Gwaine smiled, “you’d love it there.”

“Well if you’re so keen to make it up to me, you can start tomorrow.”

“Quietly,” he asked, “what do you need?”

I’m going to do what I should have done when you first showed up.

He cocked his head, “lock me in the cellar?”

“Yup. Plenty for you to clean and keep busy down there.”

His shoulders rounded. “Fine, Galla. Fine. Just tell me once there is news.”

  
  


Strange but predictable rumors surfaced from the town regarding his change of heart on magic -- commonest among them, that someone had Arthur under their enchantment. The first time this rumor was brought to Gwen's attention, she laughed until she fell over her chair and onto the floor in a puddle of quivering curls and velvet.

"As if," he gasped, "such a thing was actually possible. You are so completely incapable of taking orders of any such kind." This sent her into bright peals of laughter once more, and caused a bemused but smiling Arthur to kiss her spur of the moment, while half his court looked on.

“So,” he tried to work the smile off his face. “Back to work?” he motioned to the stacks of law books.

She smoothed down her skirt and grinned at him. “Back to making things right.”

Arthur shared a private smile with his wife. “Merlin is going to be so surprised when he gets back.”

  
  


Galla ripped open the cellar door, and grinned. “So, brother mine, looks like I really do have to do everything for you.”

“What the hell do you mean?” he near snarled, “you’ve done nothing but make me sit down here and…. oh… you found him didn’t you.”

“Mmmhmm.”

“And you couldn’t have just told me that?”

“Mmm-mmm.”

“Gally, don’t make me strangle you.”

“You’ve done nothing this past week but rave about how you’re going to storm the castle. Some of us have more sense than to let the puppy off the leash.”

“Puppy?” he shouted.

“Shh, not so loud.” She pat his hair. “Puppy.”

“I am not some…” he spluttered.

“You’re my little brother. Adorable, but not really house broken.”

He grit his teeth. “I am not adorable.”

“I see you didn’t argue the housebroken part. It took mother ages…”

He snapped, “you kept me here in the dark, while who knows what happened to my friend. You didn’t give me any choice but to plan an attack!”

Her face fell. “I just.”

“You just didn’t trust me. What is it with you magic users and your lack of trust.”

She looked sad. “You didn’t trust me before, why should I trust you now. And now that I’ve seen him, I wasn’t sure if I wanted his fate in your hands. You’d just drag him off to Camelot without a thought. You might call him your friend, but I don’t see how dragging him from the dungeons to the pyre is exactly the thing a friend would do.”

He squirmed. “I told you.”

“And I heard you. They offered you something you wanted didn’t they? A chance to belong? Is a knighthood the price of turning your friend in?”

“Galla, no. It’s not like that at all. The king knows, and he doesn’t care at all about the magic. He just wants him back.”

“When I first met him I asked him if anyone would come for him. And he looked me in the eye and told me that now they knew, they’d only come after him in revenge.”

“Revenge,” he thinks that?

“He seemed scared that his master would know. Revenge for the lies.”

“Master? Is that what he called it? Merlin doesn’t have a subservient bone in his body.”

“Yes, just a servant he said.”

“Galla, I need you to do something for me. I need you to talk to him. I should have talked to you earlier, you just seemed so… you didn’t seem to want to help me.”

She pulled away. “Well you weren't exactly explaining things, mostly you were breaking things. Every time I took you somewhere, we just got tossed out.”

“I was scared. I still am. He is the truest friend I could ever ask for - and that you were willing to help him, even when you didn’t really trust me, is something I am incredibly grateful for.” He stilled. “I’m sorry I left without a word Galla. I just… I had to go. I didn’t mean to leave you, I just had to get out. I know you think I should have helped you more, but… I didn’t.”

“Well, I got by. And just, you know what? Water under the bridge. I will help you get your friend out, but you have to promise me you can’t take him back there, alright? What if it was me?”

He grinned. “I’d definitely take you back.”

She slapped his arm, hard. “Ass.”

“So Galla, what do you need me to do?”

“Why would I need you to do anything?”

He looked smug, “because that’s the only reason you’d let me out of the house?”

Her grin glittered, “now now, I’d let you out for other reasons,” she patted his head once more, “puppy.”

He growled. “You’re just lucky I need your help for Merlin.”

“Gwaine, I still don’t agree about the whole Camelot thing, but I think Merlin’s lucky to have you. You’ve done good, Gwaine.”

“Talk to him, tell him I’m here, that… Arthur and his mother are worried sick about him.”

“Tell him yourself.”

He jerked his head up. “Where is he?”

“Get to the market and get me a cart. Meet me tomorrow, mid morning at the eastern kitchen entrance, the one by the gardens, and we’ll head out right away.”

He nodded. “Tomorrow then?”

“Tomorrow.”

  
  


She found him on the battlements, overlooking the castle’s inner keep.

“Arthur.”

“Hunith,” he dipped his head. “How can I help you?”

“You asked me once, to explain what happened when you were born. And I said that you had to decide you trusted me first. Do you trust me?

“Yes,” he blew the word out, whisper soft.

She came up to stand beside him, and pulled his arm into her own. “Your father loved your mother. But he also felt fearful for his legacy, his reign. He needed an heir, and one from an old family - he was but a conqueror to many in those days, not a ruler.”

“They didn’t welcome him, did they?”

“In the end? Not, really, no.”

“So my father married her for her bloodline?”

“Yes.”

“He said he loved her,” tears threatened to spill.

“Perhaps he did in his own way. She was a bright person, it was hard not to love her.”

“You remember her? He would never talk about her.”

“Yes. I will tell you all I remember. But not tonite.”

“Tonite, just tell me what really happened.”

“I can’t,” she stumbled and he gripped her tightly to him. “I can’t tell you everything, because I just don’t know. But I will tell you what I know.”

“And what was that?”

“That Uther craved power, craved acknowledgement by the old guard. That he needed an heir, a boy heir. And…” she shivered.

“Are you cold?”

“No, just… sad. When Igraine failed to get pregnant in the first year or so, Uther…”

“Morgana.”

“Yes. He flaunted his arrangement with Vivienne. Gorlois never knew, riding around Camelot as first Knight.”

Arthur snorted, “just like I never knew half the things the court was up to, riding around, doing his bidding.”

“When Vivienne grew with child, Igraine panicked, and used everything at her disposal to lure Uther back to her. I don’t know anything about whether magic was or wasn’t involved - my knowledge of fertility is more with charms and midwives, than any high priestess.”

“And so she traded her life for mine. So my father...”

She shook her head and patted his arm once more. “Who knows? What is past is past. Done is done. And some truths will never be brought to light. You can’t go to the past and judge yourself. You can only judge yourself for what you do today, tomorrow.” The wind picked up and she shivered.

“Go inside, Hunith.”

Arthur stood over the battlements and wondered how he would judge himself today. Tomorrow.

Descending the stairs, he called for a page to send for his knights. He was going to get Merlin. He would be judged by his actions.

Hopefully, Gwaine would be there at the border. If not, well. Then he’d have a hands-on view of the land he was going to invade.

  
  


While Galla was still not in his good graces, considering the past few days, he at least was willing to follow her instructions if it would get him time with Merlin.

Setting off to the market, he whistled a happy tune, sure that as much as his conniving twat of a sister had wrangled him, she'd be able to wrangle Merlin out of whatever godforsaken mess he was in up at the castle.

Where does one buy a cart?

He tossed cut pennies at a boy, and picked up two apples, one for now and the other, for Merlin later. He grinned, and the future tasted sweet. Asking down the line he was given suggestions, from the wheelwright to the beggars who would search and haggle deals for a price. Overwhelmed with options, he tossed the apple core into a midden heap at the back of an alley, making a long elegant arc to plop and roll off the side.

Gwaine started when the midden heap moved.

"Whatcha wan?" a voice garbled from the heap.

"Uh, sorry, didn't see you there."

"Whatcha be waken' me fo?" and a hand reached up to toss off the filthy cloak he rested under. The man's eyes went wide, "It'd be you!"

Gwaine took a step back. "I'll just heading off now."

Now wait, he smiled, missing a few teeth, I be remembren' now. You be Gwaine?

“Wait, Nate? Is that you?” Gwaine looked appalled at the slender man before him. His memories painted Nate as tall and imposing, not this bony beggar before him. Gwaine was torn between disbelief and disgust at himself - he used to be afraid of Nate and his lot.

The man grinned wide. “That it be, boy, that it be. Nice to have you back in town.”

Gwaine’s eyes narrowed, the likelihood of the bane of his childhood pleased to see him was small to nonexistent. “Nice to see you too, Nate. I’ll just be off. Trying to run errands for Galla.”

“Galla, now there’s a pretty face with a forked tongue.”

“Don’t forget the knives,” Gwaine always liked to reinforce Galla’s penchant for weapons around strange men. And there were few stranger than Nate.

“Aye, can’t forget the knives,” and he lunged, steel gleaming.

Gwaine barely ducked fast enough, scrambling to the side. “Wait, what?

“You think I’ll forget boy, what you did?”

Gwaine clearly had hoped.

“You got me tossed in the clink for well nigh a year.”

“You had it coming.” Gwaine swore under his breath at his sister’s insistence to keep his his sword hidden when in town. Rolled up in fabric and tied to his horse's’ back did little good now.

“And you’ve got this’n coming to ya.”

He lurched forward and Gwaine bolted, pack bouncing as he ran with all his speed.

He turned around the way he came, back into the shops, and towards the inn where he’d left his horse. Gwaine cursed the day he left his sword with his bedroll and saddlebags.

It was a merry chase, but none seemed keen to join the beggar. Most just cleared out of the way.

Lungs heaving, he ducked down an alley, and into a open door, the kitchen of the inn down from Galla’s. With a grin and apology, he weaved through the early morning activity, and made his way inside, and then out a side door to the stables.

Gwaine patted his horse. “Miss me ol’ girl?” He reached up to pat his sword through the pack, and untied her reins from the stall hook.

He looked around, and tossed a penny to the stable boy. “Thanks for having her ready for me.”

Gwaine led her from the dark of the stables and out into the street. The man and horse winced at the bright light from the east. “Time to see what Galla’s got up her sleeve, get our friend and go home.”

She nudged his shoulder, looking for treats. “Maybe later. I’ve got to find a cart first.”

  
  


Arthur and Leon, Percival and Elyan, made a bright sight, their cloaks bright crimson in the sun, armor gleaming. The knights rode at a clipped pace along the road.

In a spare break to water the horses, Leon took it upon himself to shake Arthur from his silent reverie. “How are we going to find him?”

“I don’t know, just hoping we get lucky at this point.” His voice was solemn.

Leon grinned quickly. “You mean Merlin lucky?”

Arthur huffed, “I suppose that’s one thing to hope for.”

  
  


The morning passed near uneventfully after his run in with Nate. Unfortunately, no one seemed to want to sell him a cart.

“Wait till the spring,” one man wheezed, “when the traders look to lighten the load.”

“Bad time for it, everyone’s trying to get their goods to market these days,” said another.

Gwaine walked from one end of the marketplace to the other, leading his horse around stalls and men alike.

After his second loop, he pulled back behind the tavern and looked out to the east. The sun was getting higher in the sky, and he still hadn’t found what Galla needed.

Gwaine swore, he should have at least asked why she needed it. He could only hope it wasn’t some mad plan to get her damn cloth back.

 

Buying a cart was damn near impossible.

Thankfully, borrowing one was easy. He loitered around the back of the inn, his horse in hand, until one man, a cooper by the looks, rolled the last barrell off a small cart.

He pulled up beside the kitchen garden, rosemary and hyssop waving in the breeze. Panting, he kept an eye out behind him, hoping that the castle inner walls kept his waiting spot well hidden from the rabble looking to follow.

He pulled tighter on the reins and hoped Galla would appear quickly.

Thankfully in near no time at all, Galla came into focus, hands curled around an old woman, wimple in an old style, pale yellow dress frayed at the edges. She carried a basket near overflowing with wool, some dyed, others wound into skeins.

“And who is this?”

Galla gleamed. “Don’t you remember aunt Millie?”

Gwaine looked askance. “Um… no?”

She whooped in delight, “oh brother dear, she’s the one who didn’t like you! Now be a gentlemen and help her take a seat in the back.”

Gwaine had learned not to ask questions, and held a hand out to the wizened woman. “Lean on me, and I’ll save you from my sister’s forked tongue.”

The thin hand reached out, pale and long towards Gwaine’s green tunic, where it twisted itself tightly. “That,” the voice was deeper than he expected, “crazy woman is your sister?”

Gwaine grinned with all his power, “aye, madness runs in the family.”

Galla snickered, “well auntie dear, Gwaine has you a fine spot in the back, will you let him get you settled?”

Millie placed a pale hand to her well packed bosom, “I would be flattered to have my third favorite nephew assist me.”

“Third?” he acted indignant, and lifted his friend into the cart. He counted over people in his head, “wait, wait, I’m after Lancelot?”

Aunt Millie covered her barely-visible face behind a scarf and tittered.

Gwaine tossed the basket at his head.

  
  


Gwaine for a moment heaved a sigh of relief. Galla sat beside him, back straight, waving at one and all as if she was a lady taking holiday.

For a moment he just took in the feel of the sunshine, and the weight of Merlin’s capture lifted. He didn’t know what hurts that sack of a dress hid, but surely they would be mended.

Not a day to the border, and they’d be safe.

A harsh cough sounded behind him, and he turned to stare at the back of the wimpled head of his aunt. “Everything alright back there?”

“Um…”

“What is it?”

“There is something moving back here.” He wheezed. “And it doesn’t seem friendly.”

Thinking back to the midden heap, Gwaine reached down to his pack and slide his sword into easy reach. “Pull over for a bit, Galla.”

She found a quieter section of the main thoroughfare and pulled to the side. “Psst, not for long. We’ll get noticed for loitering. It’s crazy busy the day before market day.”

Gwaine lifted his leg over the back of the driver’s bench, and walked into the back of the cart. Immediately he noticed the course burlap and the pile of hay, the burlap strangely jumping at odd intervals.

“You see that?” Merlin huffed out softly.

“Yeah.”

“So I’m not crazy?”

“Not yet… give it time.”

He coughed, but smiled softly.

The bag made a choked sound, then a shocked scream.

Galla turned, “what in god’s name is that?”

Merlin scuttled back until his back was against the separator between the drivers.

Gwaine swore. “Gods know what kind of foul demons Lot keeps in his castle. Stand back, I’ve got this.”

He brought the flat of his sword down on the burlap. With a bolt, all three throw themselves back as the fabric quaked, and a small furry head emerged, indignant and mewling. With a flurry of uncoordinated hooves, it untangled itself from the sacks and bounced lithely from the cart to the cobblestones.  
“Good god Gwaine, you idiot. It’s a blasted goat.”

Merlin whimpered at the volume of her voice.

“Sorry, sorry. Look, sorry my brother is an idiot.”

“Good god nothing Galla, you could have warned me.”

“What, that you bought a farmer’s cart, with a bit of the farm still attached?” she snarked.

Walking with a purpose, it sauntered straight into the street, where a loaded cart filled with barrels lumbered under the pull of two large draft horses. Their nostrils flaring, chests heaving under the strain, the goat stopped in the middle and stared up at them, letting out a little “meep.”

“Shoo, goat” Gwaine shouted out, not looking to see the thing trampled. He stood up and dropped the reins and made large motions with his hands, trying to scare the thing. “Shoo, shoo! Go away now.”

A harsh voice shouts across the market, “Gwaine!”

“A bloody blasted bleeding in all seven hells.” Gwaine swore. Nate was back.

The goat hadn’t moved a muscle.

The large drover clucked at his straining horses. “Git along little’un’ we’re coming through.”

The goat warbled a cry and dashed between the two draft horses. They each shied away from each other, the lead between them snapping, and at the loud sound the goat let out a long bray and bolted under the cart to cower, little legs trembling in fear.

The drover dropped from the driver’s seat in an instance, looking to calm his team. “Tut tut, fillies, ain’t nothing to get worried over.”

The frustrated shouts of merchants, announced Nate’s arrival better than a horn. “Think you can get away, do you?”

Gwaine flashed his sword.

The guards along the crossroad begin to shout at him, and Galla poked him to sheath his sword. He does so with an indignant huff. “Okay, okay, I get it.

Nate thumps his hands on the side of the cart. “Nice cart, where did you get it?”

“None of your business mate, now shove off. We’ve got to get going.”

“Yer in an awful big hurry to get outta town.”

Yeah, I am. Now shove it before I forget about the guards.

“And who is this pretty lady in the back here,” Nate reached a hand out to touch Merlin’s shoulder.

Merlin flinched and kept his face hidden.

Galla stood and glowered. “You keep your hands to yourself, Nate Millington.”  
Nate smoothed down his hair and tried on a smile. “Well Miss Galla.”

“Miss nothing, you get a move on. I’m looking to get my Aunt out of town and go visiting.” Nate rolled his eyes over Merlin’s old fashioned dress.

While they chatted, the drover grumbled and lashed together his team, while those held up behind him shouted out their frustration.

“Well Miss Galla, I’d be honored to escort you to wherever you’re going. You’d be safe with me. Better than this scrap of’a coward.”

Gwaine’s eyes flashed murder. “You get the hell away from here.”

Galla reached back behind her and slide out a dagger from her belt. “You run away quiet-like Nate. Don’t want me screaming for the guard, do you?”

He stumbled back, and suddenly fell from view. A shrill animal scream rent the air, and then one from Nate followed.

Gwaine and Galla scurried to the edge of the cart, and looked over to see a dazed goat, and a sprawled Nate across the cobbles.

Nate pushed himself to his elbows and backed up, in panic. “It bit me!”

Galla began to snicker, and it was infectious. Soon Gwaine couldn’t hold it in.

Gwaine grinned. “Good little goat.”

“That blasted thing was yours?” Nate rose and dusted himself off, plumes of midden-heap smell wafting with each brush of his hand.

“Come here you walking haunch of gamey meat.” Nate grumbled. The goat backed away, eyes roving.

“Oh come over here lovey! Back to the cart, like a good girl.” Galla called out in a sweet syrupy voice.

Nate growled and then charged at the four legged animal. Galla screamed out for him to stop, and the drover’s horses reared in a panic, the heavily laden cart dumping its contents off the back, the smell of ale filling the air.

First one barrel crashed, and then in a slow inexorable slide, they all came crashing down, the goat and Nate bathed in a golden shower of beer, scrambling on the slick sticky cobbles to back away.

The last barrel crashed and burst with a spray of foam and a thick silence as the entire marketplace watched the madness.

“Get him!” The drover cried out, pointing at Nate.

“Get it!” Galla pulls on Gwaine’s sleeve and pointed to the soaked goat.

Throwing his hands in the air, Gwaine shed a tear for the dearly departed spirits, and tried to get back into the driver’s seat.

“But, but… the goat Gwaine.” Merlin pled with wide eyes while he peered between the slats.

“Damn the goat,” Gwaine sighed, exasperated.

Merlin sniggered, “but, but he saved me.”

“Damn you and your soft heart.”

Galla grinned the smile of the wicked. “He’s right. The goat,” she pulled her hand to her heart, “was a hero.”

“Not you too” he growled with exasperation

Galla lunged off the side and patted his arm. “Oh our aunt Millie, such a tender heart.”

Merlin could only laugh weakly at the display. “I’m not a girl.”

“Fine fine, then this will be Millie.” He shook the drenched goat gently and pushed her back into the back of the cart. “Now settle down and hold on, we need to get out of this mess.”

The ground was covered in the smell of ale, the broken bits of barrels across the street. He flicked his hands over the reins, and his normally sedate mare clipped across the cobbles, shying from the smell.

“Come on, it’s just a bit of the drink, lets get moving” he pled with his horse.

Galla snorted from her place in the back, petting that damn wet goat. “Crying up there are you, brother dear?” She crawled over the back of the railing and into the driver’s seat. Galla cajoled his horse to greater speed, the cart bouncing on the rough street. Merlin grabbed the cloth covering his head and the goat in panic.

“Are you sure this is a good idea?” his voice was barely there over the lurch of the cart, the squeak of the wood.

“What, you want to stick around longer? Go sightseeing? Gwaine can show you all the places he’s been kicked out of as a boy.”

His eyes wild, he shook his head.

“Good,” she shouted, “because I think that city guard just recognized me.”

“Get down,” Gwaine hissed.

“I’m down, I’m down,” Merlin slunk into the cart, holding the wet goat to his chest. She bleated her distress.

Gwaine called out to his horse, and yanked the reins from Galla. “Okay, so they noticed you.”

Her eyes were wide. Gwaine, I can’t have them stop me. This could go on my civic record!”

“Your record? What, you’re worried about…”

Her eyes got wide. “Gwaine, tell me you actually bought this cart.”

Gwaine grinned what he hoped was a smile of innocence.

Merlin held his head. “Could we stop arguing and maybe look where we’re going?” The cart wheel seemed to wobble when it rubbed against a barrel in front of a stall.

“You show up at my house, eat all my food, lose half my wares, and then you can’t even actually buy a cart? They are chasing me for a stolen cart? Oh god, I can never go back, can I?” Her voice was shrill.

“Nonsense, we’ll just get him back to Camelot, and I’ll come explain everything.”

“You mean like you explained us away at the keep earlier this week?”

He huffed. “Just, let’s get out of here first.”

Galla snorted under her breath. “Then give me the damn reins.”

“No, I will not give you the damn reins.”

“Do you have any idea how to get out of this city through other than the main gate?”

A skein of wool hit the side of his head, “can you two please,” he wheezed, “fight less, flee more?”

Galla veered them off through a path leading up into the hillier sections of town, bringing the horse to a slow trot.

“Just try to look like you belong, okay?”

Millie made a disconcerted sound and began to chew on Merlin’s dress ruffles.

  
  


Hours out of town they pulled off the side of a road, in a dry gully away from easy view.

“Gwaine, stop that thing.” Galla pointed at the ground where Millie the goat was eyeing Galla’s boots.

“What thing?”

“Your goat.”

“My goat?” he spluttered, indignantly.

“You stole it, you bought it?” she shrugged.

“I didn’t steal…”

She glared.

“I didn’t plan to steal, I just wasn’t aware the lovely bit of local color, Nate, my childhood bully decided to take up napping in the alley. And it was taking too long. I was in a bit of a hurry, okay?” He near whined at the end.

“Gwaine.”

He kept ranting.

“Gwaine. You chicken shit, you had a sword and ran from him this morning?”

“Yes?” He swore, “shit woman, you made me keep it in my pack. I left it with the horse!”

“I said keep it hidden, I didn’t say anything about not keeping it handy.”

He swore again. He stammered. “Don’t you dare accuse me of being a coward.”

“It’s okay, I remember you’re a big boy now. Doing big grand adventures.” She pushed against Merlin’s boots in the wagon.

“You only call me big brother when you want me to carry something.”

She cooed. “And such a bright young man.”

Gwaine heaved Merlin’s rag doll figure over the side of the cart and into a sitting position on the ground. “Sorry mate, but it looks like we’re gonna have to start walking. Guards are going to be posted on the roads, and we’ll get caught in no time with that thing.”

Merlin’s eyes looked glazed, but he nodded mutely, and he lifted his arms. “Gwaine, you smell like beer and goat.”

Gwaine snickered.“Beggars and sorcerers alike can’t be choosers in their rescuers.”

Gwaine jerked him to his feet, and Galla ducked her head under his other arm. “So,” she staggered under Merlin’s near dead weight, “half dead sorcerer here.”

“It’s Merlin” he panted between them.

“Okay, so birdy-boy here.”

“Just Merlin, okay?” Gwaine ground out.

“That’s really his name?” Her face twisted. “You sure about bringing him to Camelot? I mean, are you sure about those people.”

Merlin shivered.

Gwaine nodded, and let out a deep reply, “yeah, I'm sure.”

She eyed him. “So how did you end up hanging around the knights of Camelot?”

“Well, it all started in a tavern.”

She laughed, and Merlin near slipped from her grasp. “No really, a story with you starts in a tavern?”

“Yes, really. So I'm in a tavern, and there was Merlin, and…” his eyes gleamed. “A princess. And there were plates I swore threw themselves, but then I later thought it was the ale, but nope. This one here was a damn sorcerer following the bloody princess like a nursemaid.”

“Notta girl,” Merlin protested, dazedly.

She screwed up her face. “There’s a princess in camelot?”

Gwaine grinned. “Oh yes.”

“A princess that is most eager to get his hands on this one here.”

Merlin shivered again.

“Don’t worry your pretty head Merlin. Arthur’s not going to do a single thing that earns him another lecture from your mother.”

Merlin looked bereft. “My mom is with Arthur?”

Neither of them paid attention to the goat prancing a dozen paces behind them.

  
  


Arthur stopped his horse and held up a hand to the others. Without a word, he dismounted, leading them off the road and into the brush.

Strangely, it’s Percival who breaks the silence. “Do you know something?”

“Know?” he tried the word on, tentatively. “More like… I just know that I want to go this way.”

Leon barely held in a laugh. “One of Merlin’s funny feelings?”

Arthur looked up at Leon and held his gaze. “I would say so.” Then he let out a long breath. “He’s going to hold this over me for years, isn’t he?”

  
  


The don’t make it on foot for more than hour, before it’s clear Merlin needs to rest. They fall against an old oak tree, sprawled roots cradling Merlin’s head as the two settle him to the forest floor.

Within moments, his eyes are shut, and his breathing evens.

“It’s going to take us forever to get to Camelot. Maybe we should...”

“We should what, Gwaine, go back?”

He sighed heavily. “I’m sorry.”

“Sorry for what, Gwaine?”

“For getting you run out of town?” he sounded far more contrite than he realized.

She quipped, “second time Gwaine, second time.”

Gwaine laughed. “They say third time’s the charm.”

“So what town shall we get run out of next?”

Gwaine stood and rolled his shoulders and Galla shook her head. “I think you need to just let him sleep. Give him a bit, yeah?”

“I’m just really worried. I have no idea what that collar is doing to him, and Gaius should know how to get it off.”

“Gaius?”

“Physician in Camelot.”

“And you think he’ll help,” she jerked her hand in Merlin’s direction.

Gwaine grinned. “Merlin is Gaius’ apprentice. And if I don’t miss my mark, I bet that crafty old bastard knows all about Merlin’s gifts.”

Galla reached into his pack and pulled out his sword and some string. “I’m going to see what I can find. You keep a watch out for him?”

Gwaine looked askance. “Why don’t you watch him?”

“Maybe because I at least know these woods? I don’t smell like the ass end of a tavern?”

“Keeping watch implies I’m armed. Why take my sword?”

Galla grinned and leaned close. “Don’t worry brother dear, I’ll leave you the goat.”

Gwaine began to snigger and reached out to lean on the tree trunk. “Hero of the hour she was.”

Galla squared her shoulders and headed off down the path.

  
  


Arthur sat on his horse in the sunshine, a large glade serene in the daylight.

The knights fanned behind him, finally patient after the long discussions from the night before. Arthur would go where his heart told him, and he couldn’t explain it.

They just hoped it might work.

Arthur nudged his horse to a slow amble, ducking under the tree limbs. He followed a worn footpath through the woods, tracking north.

They followed it for some time, when Elyan pulled back on the reins of his horse. He whispered, “there’s someone watching us.”

Leon looked around the trees, then pointed to the beech tree up the rise. “You there!”

There was sudden movement, and Arthur was off his horse, along with Percival.

Leon shouted up “you have nothing to fear, we just have some questions. We’re looking for…” he stumbled, “well for our friends.”

Arthur drew his sword and began to stalk up the rise. Percival reached out a hand to his shoulder. “Peace, Arthur. Don’t scare them.”

Hesitantly, a woman with dark red hair slid around the side of the trunk, a bare sword held low. “You’re knights of Camelot?”

Leon nodded, and then confirmed with his voice.

Arthur pulled in a loud breath and held up his sword. “Where did you get that sword?”

“It was my father’s. I’m no thief if that’s what you’re implying, Sir.” Her tone was filled with contempt.

Arthur studied her, well kept boots, hair pulled into a braid, she seemed well off. Then he noticed the loose cords in her other hand.

“Trying to set a snare?”

She looked to the side. “Yeah.”

Arthur mused for a moment and made a snap decision. He sheathed his sword and walked back to his horse, rummaging in his saddle bags. He pulled out a rasher of salt beef, and a bundle of nuts.

“Here, you won’t catch anything for a while, what with our horses trampling through.”

She looked startled, and quietly stared Arthur in the eye. Reaching into the parcel he offered, she pulled out a nut and cracked it against the tree, and picked the meat out.

She popped the nut into her mouth and chewed with a thoughtful expression. “Thank you, Princess.”

Arthur startled. “What?”

"Follow me."

  
  


Arthur saw Gwaine and near dropped his sword. Merlin was still slumped against the trunk, limp and cradled in yellow and his head swaddled in white.

Leon held back a pace, and Elyan and Percival loosely surrounded the tree. Gwaine came forward and each greeted him with smiles and hugs.

Percival was the first to break the silence, “you did it.”

Gwaine grinned. “Had help.” He thumbed at his sister. “That’s Galla, the torment of my childhood.”

Galla snorted. “Just wait till I get to Camelot, then we’ll talk tormenting.”

Arthur kept his hand still and then forswore all proprietary and knelt before Merlin. He leaned him into his shoulder and shook, first soft, and then hard, as Merlin’s head lolled against his mail.

Galla’s eyes flashed. “Careful!”

Arthur gentled his hold, and leaned back and slapped him.

Gwaine reached a hand out to his sister to stop her from rushing forward. “Yeah, he's an asshole, the problem is that he's usually right.”

At that comment Merlin responds with a low moan.

Arthur heaved a sigh of relief. “There you are Merlin. Don’t you think you’ve had enough vacation time in Essitir?”

Merlin startled, and reached a hand up to feebly run through his hair, the wimple catching in his fingers. He blushed, then his eyes went round as saucers. “Arthur?”

“Yes, hideously late, and completely inconvenient manservant who I still haven’t fired?”

Merlin blinked. “What’a I do to get fired this time?”

“Not fired. Yet. Do you want the long story, or the short, sweet version?” Arthur grinned maniacally and did his best to improvise Gaius’ eyebrow.

Merlin began to tremble. “I can explain, I promise…”

Arthur leaned back and breathed easier, now that Merlin was at least responding. “How about you explain how you ended up as Lot’s… court jester was it?”

Merlin’s face turned green. “I didn’t, I didn’t tell him anything, I swear.”

Arthur took pity, and nodded, replying in a soft voice. “I know you Merlin.”

Merlin’s smile went wide, but shallow. “So yeah, Lot's got a mean right hook, but a weak left side - can't get it over his head. You remember that if you ever see him on the field.”

“See, you learned something. I knew you'd be useful one day.”

Arthur stared at Merlin while his lips shuddered over the right way to reply, the right way to diffuse things. Arthur’s heart contracted, and it must have shown in his eyes, because every pretence Merlin had kept up fell from his face.

Merlin reached a hand up to Arthur’s shoulder. “Make it quick, I deserve that much.”

Arthur blinked at the sudden subject change. “No.” he sighed. “No.”

Merlin seized stiffly in his arms and closed his eyes, trembling for a moment, then limp.

“Merlin?” Arthur shook him again, but he didn’t respond. “Merlin?” he huffed out, “for pity’s sake…”

Gwaine kneeled beside him. “Good work Arthur, those just might be his last words. We’ve barely been able to keep him awake and coherent since we left the keep.”

“He deserves so much more.”

“That he does, so next time he’s awake, you try telling him that, yeah?”

Arthur looked up at Gwaine, the smell of ale overwhelming him. “So dare I ask how much of this past week you’ve spent at the tavern?”

Gwaine looked indignant. “I’ve spent most of it sorting vegetables in the cellar!”

Arthur’s eyes slid to Galla. “So I take it his rescue was your doing?”

She smiled brightly. “I wouldn’t exactly say that. I had it well planned, but it took Gwaine to carry it out.”

Gwaine snorted. “Yeah, it wasn’t a bad plan up until the blasted goat and entire lake of ale.”

Galla snickered and smiled behind her hand.

Arthur’s expression darkened. “This is serious, Gwaine. No time for your tall tales and your outlandish make-believe.”

Gwaine opened his mouth,

“Shut it.” Arthur snapped.

Galla looked at her brother and rolled her eyes, throwing up her hands.

Leon stared at the goat grazing not a dozen paces away, and wisely kept his silence. His eyes caught Gwaine’s, and he pointed.

Gwaine kept his silence, but grinned like a loon.

  
  


At that, no one seemed up for talking.

At first there was hesitancy, as no one wanted to break the hush, and then a flurry of activity as everyone needed something to do with their hands instead of addressing the issue.

Merlin wasn’t waking up.

At first it’s Percival, who wondered if they shouldn’t just wrap him in a blanket and speed to Camelot versus traveling in the group. A few extra horses swapped would keep a fresh mount the entire way..

Galla and Gwaine eyed each other quietly, and Gwaine finally broke his silence to Leon. “He’s not doing well and that little bit of walk wore him completely out.”

Leon shook his head. “We need to get him to Gaius.”

Percival wandered over, once he saw their bent heads. “Gaius didn’t know what to do to get the collar off, he could only hope that he’d recognize some of the runes on the metal.”

Galla hissed, “there are no runes on that collar.”

Leon sighed and held up his hands. “Then what do we do?”

Galla walked about the encampment, kicking up moss and leaves with her shoe. Returning to the men she nodded vehemently. “I know a group of druids.”

Percival nodded, “as do I.”

“Yeah, but this group? It’s got a healer in it. Someone… kinda special. The groups that have come and gone through Bedegraine think something really high of this group.”

Leon’s eyes narrowed, “and you think they’d help him?”

Galla stilled and then nodded. “I think if only for the novelty of having a group of Camelot’s finest in their debts.”

  
  


Arthur can find no fault with their plan that doesn’t betray his innate distrust of magic folk, or his nightmares of raids on the cusp of manhood. He follows Galla’s scant directions, and as night falls, he refuses the group rest, clutching Merlin to his chest.

As the moon rose, he tossed an irritated glare at Gwaine. “She said it would be west of the last town.”

“We are west, Arthur. Not like these folk put up signposts and inns at crossroads.” He muttered under his breath, “can’t imagine why.”

Arthur tried to calm his frustration and reached up to Merlin’s forehead. His skin was clammy, and for the hundredth time that day, he missed Gaius. “He's... he's not responding at all. We have to do something, and quickly.”

She shivered in the cold night air. “I ... I can take him on ahead. They might show for just me.”

“No! No…” he breathed it out quietly. “I can't... I can't let him go. I almost lost him, I can't let him go now.”

She looked up at his face. “Maybe, if I go on alone, one of Isildur’s people will show themselves.”

Leon started. “Isildur? You know him? Tall man, brown hair? and Carinth?”

“Yes, yes, you've met him?”

“I owe him my life.”

Galla blinked owlishly at Leon.

“We promise it, whatever it takes. Isildur knows the value of my word.”

She nodded, mutely. “Let me see if I can see anything I remember from up on the ridge.” She trotted off into the dark. Arthur was grateful for the near full moon’s light, it assuaged some of his guilt over letting a woman roam the woods alone.

Arthur hesitantly broke the silence. “Leon, you've met this man before?”

“Yes, he's a leader of one of the tribes. He's the one…” Leon reached over and patted Merlin’s arm. “He's the one who saved my life.”

“He holds the power of the cup?”

“Yes.”

“Maybe he can help Merlin.”

  
  


There was a noise in the underbrush, and Gwaine looked for Galla to return.

But it wasn’t only her. Three cloaked figures drifted from the trees.

Arthur's heart clenched, as he knew his armor was in a ditch miles away, his sword stuffed into a bedroll to give him better grip on Merlin, limp before him on the saddle.

One of the druids looked up and walked within a pace of his saddle.

“Are you... are you the man called Isildur?” Arthur asked softly.

“I am. And this is your friend, the one collared?”

“His name is Merlin.”

“And what is yours?”

“Arthur.”

Isildur looked up to Leon and then back to Arthur's face. Something flitted across his features, it was hard to tell in the gathering gloom. “I do not know of this collar, and why it's inflicted such sickness on him. May I see him?”

Galla walked to his side and dropped her hood. Arthur just gripped him closer. “Can you help him? Do we... are we... unwelcome here?”

Isildur shook his head. “I must admit I wasn't expecting to meet you of all people in these woods when she called to me, but you have nothing to fear. There is no danger in these woods for you. Let us get your friend near a fire and take a look. We may not have always seen eye to eye, but it is not my place to turn down a plea for help.”

Arthur stilled, and brushed a hand down Merlin’s cheek, before nudging his mount after.

  
  


It wasn’t long before the group dismounted, and followed the short distance to the druid encampment. Their fire was a small thing, meant to cook, and only a few meager tents were gathered.

“Is this... are these your people?” Gwaine asked hesitantly.

“He tilted his head. This is not my tribe, we were just traveling together. Much as you might. But she called to us, and I would not leave someone to pain and suffering if I could end it.”

“You are... a very good man. I.. owe you much for Leon's life.”

“You owe me nothing. I neither gave it nor did I take it away.”

“I don't quite understand, but I know that you gave him a chance I could not have given him. And thank you...”

Isildur settled himself and took a deep breath. “I must confess, I was not expecting to hear that.”

“Thanks?”

“No, a …” he shook his head, “it doesn't matter.”

“I think... it would be better if you said what was on your mind. I've been living years where no one spoke, and I never was able to understand. What were you expecting?”

“Hate. Arrogance. Someone who just because they didn't understand, would go lashing about. You've grown.”

“Have we met?”

“No, but your words, and thoughts shape Camelot, so it's usually easy to read. But then you appear in the middle of the night, in just a tunic, in Lot's lands, whose clamored for your death, with a boy dying of magic.”

He gasped. “He's dying? You can die of magic?”

“I don't know what's going on, but it's rather obvious this device has affected him greatly. I wouldn't have put my people in danger if he was just shackled.”

“I... I don't... I can't... He can't die on me.”

“He means that much to you?”

“I don't know you Isildur. I've... I've not slept in weeks, I think. But I know I just found him. I can't lose him again.”

Leon kept pace and put his hand on his shoulder. “Let me carry him Arthur. You're about to collapse.” Arthur clung tighter, digging in his fingers. “You're going to hurt him. That's gonna leave bruises. You don't... look, Arthur, you're gonna drop him. Let me take him to camp and you can sit with him.”

Arthur mutely accepted Leon’s assistance.

  
  


In time, the knights and the druids arrange around the central fire.

Leon placed Merlin in Arthur’s lap, and looked up to Isildur. “I don't think he has much time.” Arthur looked up from where he stared at Merlin's still form on his lap, and caught Leon’s eyes.

Leon smiled softly. “Can Carinth take a look at him?”

“I'm afraid she's far to the south, many days journey. But…” Isildur stopped and took in a breath, staring at Arthur.

Arthur ignored them, alone in his thoughts, his hand absently carding dark hair.

“Arthur... stop what you're doing for a moment,” the druid called out softly across the fire.

“What, what…” he held his hands out splayed. “Am I hurting him?”

“No, just,” he stood and walked across the fire to sit beside him. He reached out and took Arthur's hand and gently placed it on Merlin's forehead. “This makes no sense.”

Arthur moved his hand and Isildur hissed. “Keep your hands on him.”

“What?”

“I'm trying to figure this out, but he's reacting to you. Put both your hands on him.”

Arthur nodded and moved to cup his pale face in his hands. “Is this helping?” He swallowed thickly.

“Yes, I think he knows you're here.”

Arthur patted Merlin’s face and talked soothingly to him in a low voice.

Isildur sat back and stared between them both. “It’s like he’s... bleeding.”

“Where? What…” Gwaine stood up.

“No... he's.. bleeding magic into you, Arthur. You're just... soaking it up, it's spilling out of you, harmlessly. Undirected. He can't....” Isildur mused, and fell quiet, only to finally breathe out. “Oh... it's so strange!”

“Oh god, please speak sense. I just can't bear it.”

“I think the collar is hurting him because it's turning his magic inward. He's... letting the pressure off through you.”

“Like.. a tea kettle?” Galla looked perplexed.

“Yes, something very like that. When you touch his skin, make contact, he's forcing some of his magic into you, or maybe you are calling it.”

“I ... don't feel any different.” Arthur shook his head.

“You can't feel magic. You just aren't that way. But he's still dumping it into you. You're sitting on the ground, on the earth, and it's just… like an unfired clay pot, you're soaking it up, and the earth is drawing it out of you. The collar has... leashed his magic. And it's built up to the point it's tearing into him. The pressure of his magic, it is too much.” Isildur shook his head and leaned over to press a palm to the earth.

“Arthur, Leon... and the rest of you knights, pick him up and follow me. I have an idea on how to help him.”

 

It seemed merely moments before the conversation ended, but ages before they stopped walking.

In a burnt and blackened clearing, Isildur motioned to Percival to let Merlin down to the ground, and beckoned Arthur closer.

Percival walked forward to a blackened, burnt tree stump, and gently sat Merlin against it. “Is this what you wanted?”

Isildur looked haunted, but he nodded.

Arthur shivered in his armor. “But... it's cold. I thought you wanted to help. Why all the way out here?”

His eyes were dark. “The cold won't kill him as fast as the collar. I'm trying to help you. This area will draw the magic out faster.”

Isildur shook his head. “Arthur, take off your armor, your shirt.”

Arthur blinked owlishly in the moonlight.

“The more skin that touches, the more magic he can bleed out.” Isildur spread his hands. “The more broken a place, the more magic it will take in to heal itself.”

Arthur looked around the blackened clearing and nodded, reaching up to shrug off his mail.

Gently, he pried off Merlin’s tunic, the rain beginning to lightly fall. With a deep breath, his fingers trace the scars and gouges, puckered skin and burns.

Tears well, as he realized why Merlin always protected his left side, the muscles pulled and scarred under the burn. He motions to his knights, who cluster close, while he strips Merlin from the last of his secrets.

“This is the cost of shadows. The cost of silence.” He breathed out.

Arthur’s heart beats, and finally the whole notion of magic means little to nothing in the sight of Merlin’s skin. Arthur and Merlin have the same scarred skin in the name of Camelot’s people. Only Arthur could wear his scars bravely, while Merlin had to hide his under the layer of… idiocy.

Arthur’s eyes welled.

“I’m so sorry Merlin.”

He fell asleep in the damnable rain, under the shadow of the charred tree stump. Leon’s cloak held them warm and close, skin to skin, breath to breath.

Arthur vaguely remembered waking to the sunlight on wet leaves, before sleep took him again.

For the first time in months, Arthur felt at peace, Merlin’s breath warm on his cheek.

  
  


Arthur woke to Isildur's stare.

“Your Merlin is… well… unusual to say the least. “

Arthur roused himself to sit up straight.

Isildur offered a cup of water. As Arthur drank, he filled a cup of his own.

“The collar is meant to contain and redirect. He placed his hand over the cup. As the water is contained by my hand, so to I can direct where it releases. He turned it over, and water dripped out. That is the collar.”

Isildur let his gaze linger. “But Merlin is like nothing I have ever felt. He’s not…. he’s not a cup of water, he’s a flowing spring. And instead of the collar cutting him off, it’s more like it’s choking him, and the magic is building back up inside to the point his body simply cannot take it,” he stuttered to a stop.

Arthur swallowed thickly. “Do you think you can help him?”

Isildur laughed, slightly manic and spread out his hands at the lush greenery and spring flowers that surrounded him. “Do you think he’s bled off enough magic to be safe?”

Arthur near bolted at the question, his mouth gaping around him at the here-to-unnoticed stacks of poppy, harebell and maiden’s tears. “You think Merlin did that?”

“I think your Merlin is quite something.”

Arthur looked awed. “So you think you can take the collar off, now that the danger… this…” he waved at the greenery around him, “has passed?”

Isildur nodded. “Let us free your friend.”

  
  


Now that he had deemed it safe, Isildur incanted and Arthur removed the hated collar from his friends’ neck.

“He’ll get better right?”

Isildur nodded, but placed a light hand on the prince’s arm. “Like any injury, it will take time to heal. But he will be put to rights with care and rest.”

Merlin’s eyes were coming to focus on Arthur, the gold no more than a simple ring inside his wide-blown irises and Arthur felt his heart stutter a few beats in relief. There was too much he needed to say to Merlin. His Merlin, who looked like he was strung so so high, he likely wouldn’t remember a question asked long enough to form a coherent response.

“What am I going to do with you, Merlin?” he said instead, pressing his lips to his forehead. “Whatever will I do?”

  
  


Arthur’s first conversation with Merlin, once he’s awake, was sad and awkward.

“Oh Merlin. I'm so very sorry. I know you're a sorcerer, and I know that you're my friend. And I haven't always been a very good one.”

“Arthur,” it's okay. He seemed weak, but his smile was genuine. “And no I'm not a sorcerer.”

He snorted. “You don't have to lie to me any more.”

“But I'm not. I'm something a little different.”

“Yes, infuriatingly different. And quite the actor too.”

Merlin’s smile wobbled, then fell.

“…wanted to,” Merlin tiredly let out. “You the most. Always.”

“You never…” Arthur fell into pained silence.

“I wanted to,” he winced in pain as he tried to sit up. “But you, and things, and...”

Arthur pulled him up gently. “I wouldn’t tell him. I wouldn’t have seen you...” he could find no more words.

“And yet still,” he panted in pain, “you hated me.” He laid back down and closed his eyes, brow furrowed. “The chair. You hated me.”

Arthur trembled, and he backed away. “Just rest Merlin.”

  
  


There wasn’t much talking on the return to Camelot. Merlin seemed fine, but tired, and he slept through the swaying of the horses as each knight took a turn with him on their horses.

Rotating his weight kept them fresher, and they reached Camelot quickly.

Camelot’s gates were a welcome sight, and with a wide smile, Arthur made his way to Gaius’ chambers, Percival cradling Merlin not a pace behind.

Arthur took a deep breath and let his smile fill his face, and knocked. Finally, after all this time, things were looking up.

Gaius opened the door, and seeing Merlin’s sleeping face, let out a cry.

“He’s fine Gaius, just exhausted.”

Gaius’ voice must have gotten through, because a sleepy-voiced Merlin mumbled, “not time for me to get up yet.”

Hunith flew from the room and threw her arms around knight and son. “Oh thank you, thank you, thank you,” she murmured until silent sobs shook her.

Arthur leant into her back and pulled her gently to him, his arm across her shoulders. “He’s fine. The druids removed the collar, and other than sleeping all the time, he seems himself.”

Hunith’s smile wobbled and tears threatened to fall. “Thank you Arthur. For bringing my boy back. For…” she dipped her head, “for being the friend he always thought you were.”

Gaius’ hand rested lightly on his mail. “Now let’s get him into a bed, and you can tell me everything.”

  
  


It was only when Merlin was able to spend most of the day up and awake that Arthur broached the subject of returning to the Round Table.

To reaching out to the druids and actually representing them. To reviewing the laws on magic and working with those who found themselves exiles, or fugitives and figuring out who to recompense, or return, or even if the laws themselves were fair and just.

Arthur waited until Merlin seemed whole before unburdening his heart. Asking to see the magic. Speaking of the depths and breadths of the laws that needed changed. Finding out all the lies Merlin had to keep. All the secrets he’d learned in his time at Camelot.

In the end, his words were simple, but meant with all his heart.

“I know I must remove the ban on magic, but that's not all I must do. I must end this injustice. No one should be a slave, magic or no magic. No one should live in fear, hungry, and hated. I don't understand magic, not really. But I trust you. Lead me in this Merlin.”

Death was no longer the answer to all magic, but that doesn’t mean the laws were written as just or fair. Arthur could not know, and would not decide in an area he had little wisdom.

Merlin’s eyes were bright. “Then we shall do this, my king.” He seemed unwontedly solemn.

“And you will forever be at my side.” Merlin nodded with something almost revenant.

“To do this Arthur… I'm just tired. I need help.”

“What do you need help with?

He sighed. “Protecting Camelot. I've been doing okay, well. I've made it by the skin of my teeth where you are concerned. But I'm not protecting anyone else.”

“Arthur,” he spoke so quietly as to be a strained whisper, “people have suffered because I had to protect you at all costs. I'm tired of carrying that burden.”

“Then we shall form a council of magic. It will not be all on you. And when you feel up to it, you can reveal yourself. Or not, as you wish.”

“Then we will begin with the druids.”

Arthur thought back to the Round Table and nodded. The moment seemed thick with something, and Arthur worked up the courage to ask the one question he wanted most of all.

“I know why you came to Camelot. But why did you stay?”

Merlin, eyes bright, smile soft, bent his head. “Because you are my king.”

And with that, the last of the dread and doubt dropped from Arthur’s heart.

  
  


“It's funny.” Merlin mused idly, sitting before the King’s desk.

“Hrm?” Arthur looked over from where he lay sprawled on his bed.

“How much you owe me for just writing letters. It wasn't always magic.”

Arthur walked over and rested his hand on Merlin’s shoulder and leaned down to press his forehead to his dark hair. “I owe you... near everything it seems.”

Merlin leaned back and grinned. “Yep, that you do.” The grin remained on his face and he went back to scratching at the paper. “Oh, why the hell not.” He put down the quill and balled up the paper he'd just been writing.

“Can't think of what to say?”

“No, just…” he grinned wider. “Figured out exactly what to do.” He sat back in the chair and looked at him. “So …”

“So what are you going to do.”

Merlin grinned, but gave no explanation.

“Just write your thank you note and we'll get it off. You can thank me later by getting well enough to actually walk down stairs without me having to carry you.”

“Aw, too weak to carry my lazy ass around.”

“No, you weigh as much as a girl. A little girl. I should go get one of those little prams and push you around in it.”

“No thank you. God knows you push me around enough as it is.”

“Write your letter.”

The grin went wider. “Yes, sire.”

“Oh god no, when you start getting respectful, I start to worry. Whatever are you planning now?”

“Well, I definitely need to start with the thank you. Maybe tell them ignore what the hell ever you wrote. That I'm going to start ... he laughed... representing them at the round table. You know, just what we talked about. Have them send people to Camelot.”

“Why does this worry me?”

He went still. “Because this is a big thing. This is huge. Are you.. are you sure you want me to do this Arthur?”

“Yes. If anyone can help me through the mire that is all of this, it's you.”

“That's not... Arthur. This isn't something you can go back on, you can't change your mind once I send this letter.”

“We'll talk to a few druids, see about getting you someone to help you learn to heal. We'll start there.”

He made a face. “Why are you so adamant I learn to heal?”

“You're apprenticed to Gaius, I thought it just a .... natural extension.”

“I'm rubbish at healing spells.”

“So you've tried.”

“Yeah....” Merlin’s face fell and all lightness fled from his voice. “I've tried on you an awful lot.”

“But never on yourself?”

“I did try on myself, but mostly I just numbed things. And I was a bit of a mess at that too.”

“You've hurt for me. I want you to learn to heal so I never have to ask if you're okay, I want to know you can make yourself okay.”

“I'll be fine Arthur.”

“No, you're not fine. And when you hurt and I didn't know, it wasn't fine. But if you learn to heal, I won't have to worry about at least that part. And bloody stop using the word fine.”

“Arthur, this is a huge deal.” Merlin hung his head sadly.

“Why do you look so down?”

“It's like contemplating my death…”

Arthur frowned and swallowed hard. “What. Is ... what's wrong?”

“The end of this year everyone I've ever known is going to look at me like I'm a stranger. It's like knowing I'm going to die.”

“Well, I ... don't look at you differently. It took some getting used to, but you're still the same to me.”

“I know... it's because you don't know yet.”

He stopped and took a breath.

“Okay, so remember the part where you stop skulking in the shadows and lying to me? Yeah, well let's add cryptic comments to that list of things you don't do anymore.”

“When you meet the druids, you'll finally understand.”

Arthur leaned back and looked long at him. “You’re afraid of others knowing about your magic, but it’s meeting the druids that keeps you up at night. Care to let me in?”

“I... if I knew how, I would. I just, I'm selfish okay?”

“You, selfish? You almost died because you didn't want someone to think badly of you. I can't imagine you being selfish.”

“It's just that the coming months are going to change everything, and I just want a little time to be me.”

“You're going to be fine Merlin. You can do this.”

“I know I can do this, Arthur. I know that now.” His eyes seemed sad. “I just don't know who I'm going to be.”

“You’re going to be Merlin. Who has the seat beside me at the Round Table. Who has struggled in silence for far too long, and will now be recognized for his good deeds.”

“Whether you want to reveal your magic or not, I’m going to honor you in front of all at Yule.”

Merlin folded his hands in his lap. “Well then, can I at least choose my family name?”

Arthur nodded. “We will be announcing your kinship as soon as you’re ready.”

After a space, Merlin asked softly. “What, what if I want a new one? A new name.”

  
  


The firelight was bright across the hall, and the swags of greenery cast long shadows that caused him no amount of irony. So much to cover in so short a time.

He flexed his shoulders in his new velvet doublet, the thick embroidery slightly too rigid to wear with his cloak. Arthur smiled, and accepted the burden - such was the heavy weight of a king.

For of late he’d felt almost too light, as if a lifetime of burdens were suddenly slipped from him as weights no longer were tied to his hands, his ankles, his heart. For while he thought he was freeing Merlin, in a way he realized he’d freed himself.

Why fear the sorcerers in the shadows, when you were friends with them?

Why fear the unknown dagger when you stopped killing their children. Showed remorse for the actions of his father. Showed compassion and tolerance for those who the law once was used to flay and ban and condemn, regardless of guilt.

Such freedom, slipping from his father’s shadow.

For a moment, guilt darkened his face. What weight his father must have carried.

And it was his choice.

It would not be his.

  
  


Guinevere grinned and giggled like a maiden, flush with pride and secrets. Her hands patted down her latest work, blue and gold and silver gleamed in the folds.

“Is that… do you think it’s right?” Arthur fidgeted.

“It’s perfect Arthur.” She leaned up to kiss his cheek. “Perfect and past due.”

He straightened up and took a breath. “Hide it behind the throne then.”

She dimpled. “I will, my liege.”

He mock scoffed with a grin, “off with you, serving girl.”

Her giggles followed him down the hall as he finished his last task before the holiday went merry.

  
  


Arthur waited until the wine flowed, and the dancers fested. He had learned from his father how to command a room, and while his father certainly would not countenance how he used those skills, well… he would use them anyway.

It was at the end of a particularly merry dance that he stood and held up his hand. The minstrels had known of his planned interruption, and sat back in their seats with patience and small smiles.

Arthur thought he should add to their purse tonite. They’d certainly provided both entertainment and the perfect moment.

“Good people of Camelot.” He heaved a breath.

“We have seen much change this year.” He nodded sharply to the cluster of druids in the back, Isildur’s silver mane easy to see in the shadows. “As well as much bounty.” He looked to his knights, and to his councilors, who had counted the grain and reported the weather, and spoke of new trade. “as well as realized many long-unknown gifts.” His eyes sought out merlin’s - his cheeks’ flushed, his hands looking for place in his new finery. “And made new, fast friends.” He looked to Hunith, flushed with pride, and handsome in red.

“I have decided to institute a new service to my court.” At this the voices tittered, and rumor began to fly. He waited them out. “A service that has been long offered, but until now, not acknowledged.”

Merlin’s eyes were blown wide, and he seemed afraid. How little he knew of Arthur’s mind. Arthur grinned almost sheepishly, then his smile turned wicked. “Merlin! Would you attend me?”

Merlin smoothed his hands down his new doublet and made his way through the throng. He caught close enough to touch and hissed “what do you think you’re doing?”

“Doing what I should have all along?”

“What, making the entire court hate me? You said it was my choice.”

“Hmm…” he made a noncommittal noise, “remember when I said I was honoring you all the same?”

“Merlin, would you kneel before me?”

“What, want me on your knees when you condemn me to a life of being despised? It’s all too fast Arthur.”

“Merlin,” he called out, loud and booming. “Long have you stood loyally at my side, and long had you prevented many an ill to Camelot.”

Merlin’s eyes narrowed at the theatrics. “Just get this over with,” he hissed.

“Oh Merlin, behave, your mother’s watching.” He whispered and his eyes gleamed.

Merlin straightened his back. “Bastard,” he whimpered.

“I have always respected the might of my men, those who can best me, no matter their station,” he nodded to Gwaine, “have earned the right to ride beside me. Those I’ve respected have always had the right to challenge me, to ask me to be better than myself.”

He deflated a bit. “To be better than those who went before me.”

“But,” his voice picked up, “none have done this as thoroughly as you. For wherever I questioned the right path. For wherever my knowledge found a dead end, it was you who lit the way.”

“Merlin, son of Hunith. Please rise, and take your place as the first amongst my knights. Forever find a place at my side.”

Merlin’s eyes jerked up.

“As the first member of a new order, the knight of the book. For not all battles can, or should be fought with swords.”

Arthur reached back behind the throne where he’d hooked the blue cloak. Shaking it out, the embroidery gleamed in the lamplight.

“Rise Merlin. And take your due.”

Merlin found himself standing on wobbly legs, and Arthur reached out a warm hand to his side. He threw the cloak over his shoulders and spent time smoothing it over his chest. Arthur whispered, “the magic was only how you accomplished it. Doesn’t really matter what weapon you use, it’s how you wield it, right?”

“Camelot. May I present my right hand at the round table?” The response was cheers and laughter and a bit of giggles dissolved into the whoops of the knights.

“May I present Merlin, first of his name, first of his rank, of the round table. Servant once, and always, I name you something new. Merlin Emrys of Camelot.”

Afterwards, Isildur clasped Merlin’s hand with glassy eyes. “Do you know what this means, young man?”

Merlin, somber and solemn, bowed his head. “I do. And I stand beside the once and future king.”

Arthur shook his head in exasperated mirth, this was something he was going to have to learn to get used to. “Is this some magic thing?”

Gaius drifted beside him at that, and his cheeks went red.

Merlin quirked his lips, “yes, it’s some magic thing.”

“Oh good. So, Emrys.”

“Yes?”

“Is that ‘idiot’ in the old tongue?”

Isildur’s face paled, and his eyes went wide as he looked at Merlin in growing horror.

“Of course, your majesty. Only an idiot would follow the once, and always, prat.”

Arthur looked coolly at him with a measured gaze. “I believe I heard it was King.”

“King,” he held up his left hand, “prat,” he held up his right, and shrugged his shoulders. “Same thing to me.”

“We’re going to have a talk about this.”

Merlin looked him in the eye, suddenly serious, and placed his hands on Arthur’s shoulders. “That we are. A talk that has been a long time coming.”

  
  


It was the first day of spring when she arrived. Arthur felt that might be a promise or a portent. He shook his head, soon enough he’d know either way.

Her eyes were bright under the dark hood. “I received your letter.”

Merlin took a small step and pulled closer to him.

“Thank you for reading it.”

She shook her head. “I wanted to know what changed your mind.”

“I asked you to come here,” he stumbled on his words,” and I just wanted.” All the air seemed to leave him, and his shoulder’s rounded, “just wanted to say I’m sorry. To both of you.”

Merlin startled and Morgana’s eyes jerked to him. “To me, and” she hissed, “him?”

“I failed you both. The two people closest to me, I failed. I’m sorry. I see clearly now.”

“We both failed you, Morgana,” Merlin’s voice was halting and seemed close to tears.

“And that’s it? You called me here just to what, say you’re sorry in person?”

Arthur steeled himself and reached out a hand. “I wanted to say I’m sorry, and that I understand. That I… he faltered, that I…

Merlin blurted out, “we forgive you.”

"You forgive me?"

Arthur nodded. We need to work things out. People need to trust you again. I need to trust you again.”

Morgana tentatively reached out to Arthur’s held out hand. “And to what end?”

“I’ll recognize you. I’ll do what Uther didn’t.”

“Uther made the world aware I was his daughter.”

Show me the girl I grew up with. Show me the woman who fought because a cause was just. Show compassion and remorse for the hurts you’ve inflicted. Do that, and I’ll honor you.

You mean you’ll find me a country estate and foist me out of your sight?

I mean to make you a princess in your own right.

She stumbled. Princess, while my serving girl is queen?

Arthur gripped her hand tightly for a moment and let go. “A princess with a brother who loves her, a queen who misses her friend, a Camelot where magic is not persecuted, a place where she can teach and study to her heart’s content.”

Merlin spoke softly, “come back to us. I have once been your doom. Now let me show you destiny.”

He called softly. “Come out of the shadows, Morgana.”

Morgana lowered her hood and took her brother’s hand. “Perhaps. We shall have to see.”


	2. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because you demanded it. Enjoy.

Spring had gentled into early summer, and the sun shone bright on Camelot’s pale walls. Change washed through the kingdom, revealing aches and pains, secrets and half truths, causing hard conversations and whispered confessions in equal measure.

As the weather warmed, so to did the people, and what Arthur had feared would drive a wedge in his kingdom, instead was met with more a sense of relief.

Magic as the dreaded, unprovable accusation, seemed more a spectre than the actual magic itself. Most of his citizens never looked at things beyond that issue. Once a neighbor could no longer accuse another of magic over the simple matter of a torn fence or lost cow, people resumed their lives with less fear and more trust.

As the days brightened, so did Arthur’s outlook, and he no longer feared the backlash of his actions.

Guinevere too, found herself brightening, as traders and craftsmen flocked to a Camelot that would no longer burn them for being clever, or highly skilled in their craft. New dye colors, books, minstrels and the like poured into the city, and the sun-warmed queen drew them as moths to flame.

Due to this, Arthur became used to his wife randomly monopolizing his time, dragging him down to the market, to the fair, to inns and shops with little to no explanation or forewarning. His household budget was going to have to be discussed, soon.

Therefore it was no surprised when one balmy evening she knocked, a discreet grin tucked away, as if she was holding in some great joy. “Arthur, would you come with me?”

He rolled his eyes. “I have plans. Merlin and I -”

She cut him off. “Merlin is already down there. Come see.”

Arthur threw up his hands in mock surrender. “Alright, alright. I’ll come.”

* * *

The kitchen garden bloomed with lavender and greenery, lacy dill flowers nodded in the breeze as Gwen’s skirts brushed them away from the path. “Merlin, where are you?” she called out in the early evening sunlight. 

“They’re over here,” his voice was a whisper, and Gwen moved towards the sound.

In the back of the garden, a pile of straw was strewn in the deep shadow of the garden wall, and Merlin stood beside it, a strange look on his face.

“Merlin?” Arthur called out, concerned and confused.

“Arthur?” Merlin looked him in the eye, and closed the distance between them in a few strides. He leaned in to Arthur, near enough for Arthur to smell the herbs on his hands, and whispered. “We’re having kids, Arthur.”

Arthur’s mind stumbled and then flat out stopped, wiping blankly. For a panicked moment he tried vainly to remember his childhood tutors and human biology. “Wait,” he croaked out, “we are?”  
Maybe it was magic?

But he thought.

No, wait. Merlin was the physician’s apprentice, if anyone would know about these things, he would.

Arthur’s face made the series of leaps of logic plain.

Guinevere's face made her own strange series of twists and contortions as she looked between them. “Wait, Arthur, wait… oh my,” she flew a hand up to her face. Suddenly an unladylike snort started off a peal of giggles until Gwen had to lean against the wall, hands to her stomach.

“Oh the look on your face. Oh gods, the look.” 

Merlin looked at her and shook his head. “What’s so funny?”

“He,” she tried to catch a breath, but the laughter took hold of her and shook her, bubbly and effervescent and impossible to deny. “He… oh… he.”

Merlin’s face screwed up, “he, wait. Arthur, you… didn’t think…”

Gwen’s giggles were more snorts and brays of air and squeaks.

Merlin’s lips quivered until even he could no longer hold it inside. Large bells of laughter rang out, until he was bent over, shaking in ill-kept glee. Then something snapped, and he fell to his knees, tears streaming down his red-patched face.

Merlin rummaged in the straw for a moment and held up a ball of downy fluff in his hands. “Our… oh… our… kid, Arthur. Isn’t he, he, he beautiful?”

Gwen reached out a hand to Arthur’s shoulder to steady herself. “Baby goats are called kids Arthur.” She snickered and gave Merlin a cheeky glare. “Though I’m sure if you and Merlin were to have any… any…” she bent over and fell back against the wall, “kids, they’d be just as adorable.”

Arthur’s face went blank and then red, his jaw firmly clenched shut.

He took the offered animal and stared down at the little hooves and sleeping face. Finally, as the moments passed, he joined in their laughter, little snips and snickers slipping past him, no matter how hard he tried to keep his face straight. “I think he’s got Merlin’s nose.”

Merlin opened his mouth horrified. “I should think not! See that self-satisfied smile? That right there is your laziness… mr-can’t-get-out-of-bed.”

The baby goat ignored their glee and nuzzled into Arthur’s cupped hands, little bit of pink tongue slipping past, dried milk in little splashes of his downy muzzle. Arthur let his fingers rub against the down for a few moments of quiet.

While Arthur patted against the kid’s tufts of fluff, Merlin reached down and petted Millie’s head. “Who's the best mama? You are, you know it.” 

She made a short bleat and then curled back into herself to nap, far too dignified to give the childish royals any attention.

“Merlin.”

“Yes, Arthur?”

“What am I going to do with more goats?”

Gwen quirked her head. “What do you mean?”

Arthur motioned with his occupied hands. “What am I doing with more of these? I made an allowance for one goat in the kitchen, not a goat village.”

Merlin’s mouth quirked up into a smile. “Arthur, do you know what those make?”

Arthur rolled his eyes and his shoulders, the baby goat bleating out its displeasure at the sudden motion. He starts to feel something warm and wet slide through his fingers, and looks down to see an irritated ball of fluff let out a stream of urine, down his hands and onto the ground.

“They make a mess, is what they make.”

“Cheese Arthur. Cheese. The kind you love spread on toast.”

Arthur looked down at the small wet blotches on his tunic. “I suppose they can stay. As long as they make cheese. But no more than these, alright?” Arthur leaned down and shooed the grey one back to his mother and the other two sleeping balls.

Gwen looked at Merlin for a long moment, then shrugged her shoulders. 

Merlin grinned back. “You want to tell him?”

Arthur kept patting his kerchief against the wet spots. 

Gwen rolled her eyes and threw up her hands. “Not my fault he never paid attention in any of his classes.”

Merlin snickered, then dropped his voice in mock-seriousness, “but I promised not to keep any more secrets between us.”

Gwen’s face went comic, eyes wide, and she placed the back of her hand against her forehead. “We must bear this burden, take this secret to the grave, Arthur must never know how goat cheese is made.”

Arthur looked up and shook his head, sadly. “Will you two quit mocking me?”

Merlin’s eyes went soft. “Arthur, do you want to know how goat cheese is made?”

Arthur’s smile became fond. “Sure. Enlighten me.”

“Well, when Millie finds another goat she loves very very much…”

Arthur snorted and leaned over to shove his shoulder into Merlin, who dissolved once more into laughter that Gwen once more picked up, the sound echoing up against the walls and into the darkening summer sky.

**Author's Note:**

> My first fic, though posted second to Reverse Big Bang. Thank you After Camlann mods and sundry, and everyone from chat for all their hilarity, wisdom, help, and offers of tea and alcohol to get me writing again.
> 
> A very special thanks to Dylogger, my artist who stepped up last minute, as well as SteppingStones and Rowanbrandbuck for all their encouragement.
> 
> Those of you responsible for the goat know who you are.


End file.
